


when the door opens

by subsequence



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Bittersweet Ending, Childhood Friends, Getting Together, Kindergarten Teacher Park Jinyoung (GOT7), M/M, Past Character Death, Producer JaeBeom, Sharing a Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22933906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subsequence/pseuds/subsequence
Summary: “This is going to sound crazy.” Bambam waves his hands and laughs nervously. “Um…would you believe that I’m dead but I’m here to help you?”“What, like some kind of—of guardian angel or something?” Jinyoung’s eyes narrow. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung, Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam & Park Jinyoung
Comments: 39
Kudos: 174
Collections: JJP Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much to forochel and b for being wonderfully helpful (and incredibly patient) betas! and thank you to mel for holding my hand through this fic idea for about a million years and yelling at me about her bambam feelings whenever i was unmotivated 💕 thank you also to mod leah for running this event and making it a fun, well-organized experience!!
> 
> my artist was the wonderfully talented and adorable [rae](https://twitter.com/raeraraa), who drew not one, but [two lovely pieces](https://twitter.com/raeraraa/status/1237714634510970881) for this fic 💕 
> 
> **additional warnings regarding character death (if you don't want spoilers, jump ahead to the fic):** nobody dies in the course of this fic and neither of jjp is dead. however, bambam is caught between life and death and his goal is to move on. past character death is referenced, as is very vague twentieth-century homophobia.
> 
> title is from coming home, which is basically the theme of this fic.

Bambam has never been in such an empty waiting room before.

Then again, maybe he’s just in a particularly empty section of it. It’s hard to tell when the room seems to stretch out in either direction as far as the eye can see, row after even row of chairs fading into the distance until they look like train tracks heading out of a station. The line of glass-walled cubicles before him runs parallel to the chairs. No matter how far Bambam walks, each is as empty as the last and, when he tries the doors, apparently locked.

“Come _on._” He takes a step back to glare at the glass door, only to do a double-take and peer at it more closely. Bambam has never been the type to pass up appreciating his reflection, but this—

On instinct, he strikes a pose. His body is lean and toned in a way he hasn’t seen in decades, his skin glows, and his face looks fresh off a magazine spread—like the ones adorned with the faces of his models. He purses his lips and gives himself a wink. He’s firmly held that he was still a sophisticated kind of sexy even when his hair went silver (naturally, finally), but he certainly isn’t going to complain about a little more…vitality.

Bambam turns to blow a kiss over his shoulder at his reflection, only to jump nearly out of his skin when a door down the endless row swings open silently.

For a moment, Bambam reflects on how many horror movies he's watched that start with someone walking toward something best left alone. He figures sentient doors probably fall into that category—but what other option does he have? He casts his gaze back down the interminable rows of chairs and has a sudden vision of an eternity spent suspended in time, silent and alone and waiting. Suppressing the shiver that shoots down his spine, Bambam does what he does best and acts.

He's spent too long waiting as it is.

The door seems expectant as he approaches. Not quite impatient, but certainly ready to get on with it—whatever _it_ may be.

When he looks in, he sees a small office identical to those he'd walked past—a warm wooden desk, inoffensive peach-colored walls, and a friendly potted plant in the corner—with one stark difference.

"Please come in," says the person seated behind the desk. Their hair and voice both remind Bambam of honey, and he feels comforted almost in spite of himself. "I've been waiting for you."

"I think I've been waiting for you, too." The moment Bambam's feet sink into the plush carpet, the door glides shut as silently as it had opened. "But, you know, I wouldn't say no to an explanation."

The person reaches below their desk, pulls out a binder stuffed to bursting that's almost as thick as it is tall, and drops it in front of them with a thud. "Well, that _is_ my job."

Bambam tries not to stare at the binder. "I...don't have to read that, do I?"

Bell-like laughter rings through the air—but it isn't the sweet tinkling of a little trinket. It reminds Bambam of the tolling of a bell tower. "Oh, no," says the being. Bambam is beginning to suspect calling them a _person_ might not be entirely accurate. "I don't think we could ask that of you. It'd take... Well, it'd take a lifetime."

"Oh. Well." Bambam nods awkwardly. "Yeah, one of those was enough already, thanks."

"A smart one," the being observes. "Why don't you have a seat and we'll get started?"

As mild as their words are, Bambam feels none of his usual urge to poke around the edges of the suggestion for a limit to push. He sits. "So, just to clarify, uh...sir?"

"Youngjae," the being responds.

"Right. Youngjae." Bambam isn't entirely certain he should have clearance to be on a first-name basis with the being, but he isn't going to argue. "I _am_ dead, right?"

Youngjae tilts their head thoughtfully. "Well...mostly."

"Mostly?" Every vague recollection Bambam has of an in-between—purgatory, ghosts, perpetual low-grade punishment à la hell lite—flashes into his mind at once and his heart squeezes tight. He squints at Youngjae, trying to pick out some identifying marker as to what sort of creature they may be.

Youngjae gives him an easy smile and warmth washes over Bambam as if he's stepped out into daylight and let the sun kiss his skin. The knot in his chest loosens as quickly as it had appeared.

Well, Bambam figures, that's promising. Probably.

"Everyone goes through this step," Youngjae reassures him. "Well, ever since they implemented the new system, anyway. We have a fair amount of power up here, but keeping up with every single one of you humans—it hasn't been sustainable to do it all on our own for a while now."

"Right, right. Of course." Bambam nods. "And you...do what, exactly?"

"Plenty of things," Youngjae replies. "But as far as what's relevant to you right now, it's simply giving living humans a little nudge in the right direction. That’s where you come in."

Bambam thinks back on various life decisions. He blanches. "Are you sure that's the best idea?"

Youngjae laughs. "You spent all those years living and learning. Don't sell yourself short."

"I mean, I'm good at _some_ things"—photography, fashion, making people laugh, Bambam is plenty aware of his strengths, but _still—_"but giving life advice? That'll affect people's eternal souls? Wasn't being alive once already enough stress?" The pitch of his voice rises with each question.

Youngjae seems terribly amused by this, if the way they're grinning is any indication. Still, their voice is more soothing than ever when they say, "Don't worry, your assignment is personalized for you." They give the binder a fond pat. "Otherwise, what would be the point of collecting all this?"

Bambam eyes it warily. "I don't know. I got the impression you folks were pretty into surveillance, anyway."

Youngjae snorts. Well, at least Bambam hasn’t lost that. "Contrary to popular belief, we don't love sitting around waiting for people to slip up." They pause. "Well, not any old person, anyway. Only the really, really terrible ones."

Bambam pauses and then nods. "That's fair, actually."

"Well," Youngjae says with a grin. "We're all about that."

"I guess I'll have to take your word for it." Bambam looks back down at the intimidating binder. "So, how is this assignment personalized? Is it someone I know or something?"

"Oh, no," Youngjae replies. "Well, it is for some people, but not for you."

"Lucky me."

"It can make it harder, actually," Youngjae points out. "If you've reached this point, you've already accepted where you are in the transition. Seeing someone from your life—it can complicate things."

Bambam looks down at his hands and twists one of his rings. "I don't think you need to worry about that with me."

Youngjae regards him, fingers stroking the corner of the binder. "No. No, I suppose not."

"So." Bambam sits forward, chin held high. "How's it personalized then?"

Youngjae straightens up in their chair and says with a practiced air, "You must share with the living only that which you had to give in your life." Slouching back down, they add, "What that really means is that it's tailored to something you knew well or came to understand while you were alive."

Bambam perks up. "Tailored? I can do that."

Youngjae barks out a laugh. "It’s not quite that literal. You won't have enough of a physical presence to go around giving people makeovers, anyway. No, it's usually a lesson you learned yourself—or, well, I suppose you could've had help of your own. But that's the beauty of it, really. Humans helping humans, because that's human nature."

Bambam raises his eyebrows. "Have you been down there lately?"

Youngjae chuckles. "Not everything humans do is natural to them. Consider this a last chance to be more human than you've ever been."

"That's nice." Bambam grins at him. "How long have you been using that line?"

"For longer than you were alive," Youngjae says easily before laughing again. "But I stand by it. You humans may need a helping hand every now and then, but it's usually just setting you straight on the course you were already running."

"I guess we'll see about that." Bambam nods at the binder. "The way you're talking makes this assignment sound like it'll be easy, but I get the feeling that isn't exactly true."

"I said humans were helpful," Youngjae says, "not easy." They flip open the binder, scan a page, and chuckle. "In fact, I'd say your little human isn't going to be easy at all."

Conflict twists in Bambam's chest, the thrill of facing a particularly challenging new friend warring with a long-familiar ache. "I—I still get to..._go_ no matter what, right?"

For once, Youngjae's eyes aren't twinkling with a smile. Instead, they're unreadable as he regards Bambam. "You don't need to worry. You're capable of this."

Bambam can't ignore the lack of a denial. "Okay, but...what if?" He twists his ring again and runs his thumb over its delicately engraved ridges.

Youngjae leans forward over their desk. "I promise that you can do this." Their voice, while still warm, feels heavier now, like a thick blanket settling around Bambam. "It wouldn't be assigned to you if you couldn't."

Bambam squeezes his hands together one last time before nodding with a conviction he's decided he needs to feel. "Okay," he says in the voice he always brought to the table, the one on which he'd built an empire. "Then I guess there isn't anything else for it, right? Lay it on me."

For a moment more, Youngjae regards him with eyes too deep for Bambam to read the currents in them. Bambam stares right back. Somewhere in there, he thinks he catches a glimpse of something like admiration.

Finally, Youngjae's gaze drops back to the binder. They smooth a hand down the page. "Where would you like to start?"

Bambam shrugs. He makes the movement nonchalant, effortless. "How about a name?"

Youngjae turns back several pages, the hush of the thin, translucent paper like whispers Bambam can't quite make out. Their finger scans down the page and then comes to a halt.

"Well?" Bambam prompts. "What's their name?"

Youngjae turns the binder on the desk so Bambam can read the page for himself. At first glance, the page is painfully bright to look at, and Bambam's eyes water as he wonders how Youngjae managed to read it so easily. Finally, once he's blinked back enough tears that the writing stops swimming before his eyes, he manages to make out the words below Youngjae's fingertip.

_Jinyoung Park._

* * *

Either physics has changed since Bambam mostly-died, or this form is nothing like his real body despite the resemblance. He doesn't think he can quite chalk it up to renewed youthfulness when he's dropped onto a couch in a strange apartment and nearly bounces straight back up into the ceiling.

Once he's managed to get himself grounded somewhat normally on the floor—gravity doesn't seem to be particularly fond of this "body"—he takes in his surroundings. Some might call the living room cluttered or disorganized, but to Bambam it seems cozy. At the very least, it seems as if someone lives here—a stark difference from what he can see of the kitchen over the bar separating the two rooms. The only indication of use is a dried ring around the front burner of the stove. Glancing at the empty bowl on the table in front of the couch, Bambam can hazard a fair guess as to the cooking skills of this Jinyoung.

As he walks over to the table, he notices with a jolt that he isn't entirely opaque. If he looks closely, he can faintly see the pattern of the carpet through his feet. But…when he fell on the couch, he bounced off of it, and he’s clearly stepping on the floor—what rules does this body follow?

He crouches down next to the table and pushes curiously at the bowl. He half expects his finger to pass through the ceramic, but instead, he makes contact and it skitters across the surface, wobbling right at the edge. Bambam lunges to stop it from falling but doesn’t quite make it—the bowl lands with a soft _thud_ on the carpet, chopsticks clattering down with it.

Bambam freezes. The apartment isn’t huge. Besides the front door, there’s only one more that must lead to the bedroom. If anyone’s home, they’ll have heard.

He remembers what Youngjae told him while explaining his assignment—it’s easiest to stay out of sight and nudge people in the right direction. Moving their keys so they take a later bus and meet someone who will change the course of their life, that was the example Youngjae gave. Discreet, careful, well thought-out.

All things Bambam struggled with in life. And, apparently, continues to struggle with in almost-death.

Several moments pass and Bambam is about to let out a sigh of relief when he sees the handle of the bedroom door start to turn from the inside. He looks wildly around the apartment for a place to hide—the blackout curtains look promising, but he thinks ghostly legs dangling beneath the windowsill might be more upsetting than a whole not-quite-dead being—but before he can do anything, the door is thrown open and he finds himself face-to-face with the business end of a broom.

It draws back and swings back down—and Bambam might not be entirely of this world anymore, but he squawks when it makes impact because apparently that still _hurts._ “Stop! I’m not—ow, Jesus, _stop_!”

“Why should I?” demands the wielder of the broom. The flurry of blows pauses long enough for Bambam to make out a face he recognizes from Youngjae’s binder. Just his luck, to meet his assignment and immediately get battered with a broomstick. No wonder Youngjae had said this Jinyoung wouldn’t be easy. “You’re in my _apartment,_ you fucking creep. Give me one good reason not to knock you out and call the cops.”

Bambam doesn’t know how the police would respond to someone showing up in the legal system when they’re supposed to be dead, but he’d rather not find out. “Hey, now.” He tries to make his voice as appeasing as possible. “Hold on, seriously, I’m here to help you.”

Jinyoung bristles and raises the broom higher. “Help me? And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

Bambam flounders for an explanation that sounds plausible enough to keep another round of blows at bay. The truth probably isn’t going to do him any favors—but what else does he have?

“Okay, you have to promise not to hit me again—”

“I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“This is going to sound crazy.” Bambam waves his hands and laughs nervously. “Well, uh, my name is Bambam and, um…would you believe that I’m dead but I’m here to help you?”

“What, like some kind of—of guardian angel or something?” Jinyoung’s eyes narrow. “How stupid do you think I am?”

Bambam yelps and throws his arms up in front of his face just in time to catch another swing. “I don’t think you’re stupid! And I’m not an angel, I met one of those—I mean I think I did anyway, they didn’t really give that much information about themselves—”

“Do you think this is funny or something?” Jinyoung’s voice is rising and—Bambam would be lying if he said he didn’t find him a tiny bit frightening like this, eyes menacing and lips pulled back in a snarl as he swings the broom back higher than ever—

And then the doorbell rings.

Jinyoung doesn’t take his eyes off of Bambam as he calls, “Jaebeom?” Despite himself, Bambam feels a kick of hope in his chest at the name.

A muffled _yeah_ comes through the door.

“Just use your key.” Jinyoung sounds steady to Bambam and he can’t help but feel a small surge of admiration.

Still, there must be something in Jinyoung’s voice that Bambam can’t pick up on—but Jaebeom does. “Are you okay, Jinyoungie?” Bambam can hear a key sliding into the lock and turning. “You sound kind of—” The door swings in to reveal—well, if Bambam weren’t very spoken for and also almost dead, he might be tempted to do something stupid. Tall, pretty, and encased in black leather has always been his type.

As it is, he’s grateful for the eye candy if nothing else.

“Jinyoungie,” Jaebeom says slowly. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Jinyoung snaps. His hands clench around the broom handle and a dust bunny caught in the bristles quivers.

Jaebeom blinks at Jinyoung. Bambam imagines the sight of a sweatpants-clad pretty boy brandishing a grimy broom like a katana is a lot to take in without context. “I’m—I’m going to be real with you, I have no idea.”

“You—you don’t…?” Jinyoung’s eyes jump from Jaebeom to Bambam and back again.

“I don’t what?” Jaebeom steps forward with remarkable confidence—then again, maybe he hasn’t seen Jinyoung’s broom in action and doesn’t realize what he has to fear.

But once his hands settle on Jinyoung’s, it’s easy for him to uncurl Jinyoung’s fingers from around the handle and set the broom gently aside.

Jinyoung’s eyes bore into Bambam, but they’re wide with something uncertain and wary now. “Nothing,” he says. “I just…thought I saw something, was all.”

Jaebeom’s brow furrows in concern. “I didn’t see anyone on my way up, but do you want me to check the balcony? And maybe the stairwell?”

“You don’t—” Jinyoung pauses, still staring at Bambam. “Actually, maybe? Only if you don’t mind.”

“Course not. I’ll be right back.”

Jinyoung barely manages to smile at Jaebeom as he leaves, face wan and eyes unblinking. The second the door closes behind Jaebeom, Jinyoung stalks toward Bambam with purpose. Even without a makeshift weapon, his ferocity makes Bambam take half a step back.

“He can’t see you,” Jinyoung hisses. “Why the hell can’t he see you?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Bambam replies. “But I swear I don’t have as many answers as you think I do.”

“Right, well, you better have _some_ because I’m not—this isn’t—” He makes a noise of frustration deep in his throat. Bambam takes another step back, Jinyoung’s hands shoot out to grab him, and Bambam’s fly up to meet them—

And their hands pass through each other.

Or, more accurately, Bambam’s pass through Jinyoung—_into_ him.

Bambam hadn’t realized until now the chill that had been surrounding him. As he falls into Jinyoung, he finds himself wrapped in warmth as the world blurs and he wonders how he ever thought that form was even slightly human.

“What the hell?” Jinyoung’s voice rings out but Bambam feels lips move—lips that aren’t quite his, but feel almost like it. “Where did you—”

Bambam tries to speak. _I’m here._

“Oh, god, no.” Suddenly, the comfortable warmth surrounding Bambam begins to churn, buffeting him with—with thoughts? Half-formed, panicked, _can’t be happening, losing my mind, help me help me help me_—they whip around him like icy gales or arctic waves, and if he had lungs of his own he thinks the air would be stolen from them. “No no no, this isn’t—this can’t—”

_Breathe, Jinyoung,_ Bambam tries to reassure him. _You need to calm down._

“How are you doing that?” Jinyoung’s voice cracks. “How did you—”

_I don’t know either,_ Bambam says. _But you need to stop freaking out—_

“Easy for you to say,” Jinyoung fires back. “You’re not the one who just had someone break into your apartment and then your—your _brain,_ god, what the hell—”

_I think I have plenty to be freaked out about too,_ Bambam points out. _But Jaebeom is going to be back any minute and you’re yelling into an empty room and talking to someone he can’t hear or see._

“God,” Jinyoung groans, burying his face in his hands. “What did I do to deserve this?”

Bambam is asking himself the same thing. Youngjae had said Jinyoung wouldn’t be easy, but this whole encounter has been disastrous from start to finish. True, Youngjae _had_ said that most nearly-dead kept themselves hidden away and worked in mysterious ways—but “mysterious” has never really been Bambam’s style, so who can blame him?

Well, Jinyoung, probably. Jinyoung, definitely.

“What are you doing?” Jinyoung’s voice breaks through the quiet again. “Why’d you go all silent?”

Well, Bambam thinks with relief, at least he can still have his own thoughts, even if he can’t quite seem to avoid Jinyoung’s. _I’m still here,_ he…says. _I’m just trying to figure out what to do._

“What you should _do_ is get out of my head before Jaebeom comes back so he doesn’t think I’ve lost my damn mind.”

Before Bambam can reply that he doesn’t know how he got into this situation and he sure as hell doesn’t know how to get out of it, the door opens again and Jaebeom re-enters. “I didn’t see anyone and the lock looked normal, so—Jesus, what happened?”

If Bambam had thought Jaebeom was handsome before, seeing him through Jinyoung’s eyes is something else. Of course, Bambam had seen the sharp planes of his face, his features so striking as to almost look cold—but his eyes are wide with worry as he looks at them, looks at Jinyoung. His lips are parted softly, every line of his face etched with tenderness.

The frenzied panic around Bambam begins to slow, a steady glowing warmth suffusing the space instead.

Well, Bambam thinks. Maybe his assignment won’t be as difficult as he’d thought.

“Sorry,” Jinyoung finally blurts out. “I just—don’t quite feel like myself today.” He lets out a nervous laugh.

_Don’t feel like yourself?_ Bambam snorts. _Really?_

Jinyoung stiffens and suddenly his voice is ringing out without his lips moving. _Can you shut up until Jaebeom’s gone at least?_

“Can I help with anything?” Jaebeom steps closers and Bambam feels Jinyoung’s heart start to race. “Are you getting sick?”

“Ah—maybe?” Jinyoung coughs. It’s surprisingly convincing. “You know how it is working with the kids. Little germ factories.”

“I know. My mom made sure to remind me about a million times before I left to report back on how you’re doing.” Jaebeom’s eyes fold into crescents when he smiles at Jinyoung. “She knows how things go at schools during flu season.”

_Even his mom likes you?_ Bambam lets out a low whistle.

A frisson of irritation runs through Jinyoung’s body. _Of course, she likes me. She’s known me since I was a kid. Parents love me._

“Jinyoungie?” Jaebeom reaches out and squeezes Jinyoung's shoulder. It seems like a casual gesture, but his hand is warm and strong as it lingers. "Have you been eating properly? Not just ramen and shit?"

“Ah—well—” Bambam can feel the thought making its way to Jinyoung's lips, squirming and slightly uncomfortable—a lie. "I've been taking care of myself just fine. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" Jaebeom raises his eyebrows. "When you're acting like this?"

"Like what?" Jinyoung asks.

Jaebeom opens his mouth to answer and then closes it. His eyes do all the speaking for him. Finally, he says, "Do you want me to stay? I can try to reschedule my flight for tomorrow—"

Bambam feels a thought scamper by, eager and light-footed. He thinks he can hear the whispered edges of the words _stay with me_ as it goes past. 

“I...don't want you to have to do that," Jinyoung says, but it rings hollow. Bambam doesn't think Jaebeom has to be cohabiting Jinyoung's brain to know that he does want it, very badly. "I mean, I can't ask you to."

Jaebeom shrugs. "I offered."

"I know, it's just—" Jinyoung purses his lips. There's a hum of worry over everything, like a high, insistent buzz that pierces through every other thought—not that Bambam can blame him, considering everything that's just been thrown at him. But beneath that, there's something Bambam can only describe as hunger. Jinyoung seems adept at ignoring it, though, and he pushes it down and says, "I know you've been looking forward to this trip. I want you to get everything out of it that you can."

Bambam...doesn't know what to make of that. There's something squirming and uncomfortable about it like Jinyoung's lie earlier, but he can't deny the warmth that accompanies it. It feels caught in-between, unsure and undecided.

Jaebeom sighs. "I know, but it'll be almost a whole month I've been traveling by the time I get back."

"What are you supposed to do, not visit your parents? Or turn down a collaboration you've wanted for years?" Jinyoung tilts his head. "I promise I can take care of myself."

"Hmm, really?" Jaebeom scratches his chin in a show of thinking hard. "Where have I heard that before?"

Bambam can feel Jinyoung's ears go warm. "Okay, that's not—college was _different—_"

"Back when you let me take care of you," Jaebeom teases.

Everything around Bambam is warm almost to burning, fluttering and light. 

"I'm an adult," Jinyoung grumbles, but Bambam doesn't buy it. He's sure Jaebeom doesn't either. "I pay rent. I have a job."

"And you can't fry an egg." A shit-eating grin is painted across Jaebeom's face now.

"First, you act like you're worried about me," Jinyoung—Bambam can't find any other word for it—whines. "And then you make _fun_ of me."

"You seem healthy enough to complain about it." Jaebeom's still smiling, but he steps closer and touches the backs of his fingers to Jinyoung's forehead. The cold points of his rings make Jinyoung shiver. His smile fades to a frown, and then he's stepping closer still and wrapping his hand around the back of Jinyoung's neck, face leaning in toward Jinyoung's until Bambam can see the delicate tips of his eyelashes, a freckle on the bridge of his nose, the chapped skin of his bottom lip—

Jinyoung's breath stutters in his chest.

Jaebeom's lips brush dryly against Jinyoung's forehead. He stays there, nose pressed to Jinyoung's hairline and lips to skin as he murmurs, "You're a little warm, but I don't think it's a fever."

Jinyoung wavers there, caught between Jaebeom's hand, firm but gentle, and his lips. He clears his throat and turns his head to the side. "Yeah, it's probably no big deal."

Jaebeom's hand slips from Jinyoung's nape and jams into his jacket pocket. "Right. Yeah."

Bambam wishes he could scream, but he thinks Jinyoung might jump and start a whole new round of...whatever the hell this is.

"Is your flight soon?" Jinyoung ventures.

"Yeah, it's—" Jaebeom coughs. "I can head out now, really."

Cold stabs through the racing warmth. "It's not that I don't—" Jinyoung says hastily. "I'm just feeling kind of—"

"I know," Jaebeom says. He follows it up with a smile that's small but genuine and thaws the chill trying to work its way through Jinyoung's thoughts. "You need 'Jinyoung time.' You've told me. I don't mind."

"It's—" The urge to tell the truth nearly bursts free—Bambam can feel the struggle—but Jinyoung just manages to suppress it. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. It's not like I won't see you when I get back." Jaebeom toys with his keys, running his thumb over a little charm of a horribly-drawn cat. Half the outline is worn away. "I'll text you, yeah?"

"Yeah." Jinyoung shifts his weight awkwardly before saying, "Don't I get a hug goodbye?"

"Are you trying to get me sick in revenge?" Jaebeom's mouth quirks up into a teasing smile.

"No," Jinyoung protests, but the word isn't even out of his mouth before he's folded against the firm breadth of Jaebeom's chest, body-warmed leather surrounding him. His hands slip up under Jaebeom's jacket to hold him tightly at the waist.

Bambam feels the touch like an echo, but the love of it is still almost overpowering.

He aches.

* * *

_So,_ Bambam says. _You two seem close._

Jinyoung groans, rolling over in his bed to shove his face into his pillow. "He's my best friend. Of course, we're close."

_Best friend. I've heard that before._

"Know-it-all matchmaking," Jinyoung snipes. "I've heard that before, too."

_Touchy,_ Bambam comments. _You know what might make you less tightly wound?_

"Not having a ghost squatting in my brain would be a good starting point."

Bambam ignores him. _Actually getting in touch with your emotions and letting your best friend kiss you._

“What do you know?” Jinyoung grumbles, but it can’t hide the flash of giddy warmth at Bambam’s words, at the image they conjure up. This thought is soft around the edges, half-realized but worn smooth from constant handling like Jaebeom’s keychain. “Just because you’re in my head doesn’t mean you’re my therapist.”

_You’re right,_ Bambam replies. _I’m better than a therapist. And I probably know more than you think._

“Oh, really?” The warm thought is yanked away and smothered in indifference, cool and polished as glass. “Then you should know when to drop it.”

_Or maybe I know why we shouldn’t,_ Bambam counters. His mission had seemed somewhat daunting when he’d read it in Youngjae’s office—trying to untangle the closeness of best friends from the yearning to be lovers is a blurry enough process that Bambam wasn’t looking forward to dealing with it a second time around.

But here, Jinyoung seems perfectly aware of what he wants. He’s just too stubborn, or maybe too afraid, to take a leap of faith. Then again, from what Bambam’s seen and how openly Jaebeom adores Jinyoung—because there isn’t any other word Bambam can think to use for how Jaebeom had looked at him, because it’s the word Bambam had always used himself—it’s less a leap of faith and more of an easy step into waiting arms. 

_I just don’t get why you wouldn’t even try,_ Bambam tries again.

“What happened to knowing more than I think?”

_See, I know things,_ Bambam replies. _But it’s not my fault you don’t make any sense._

“I don’t make any—?” Jinyoung scoffs. “I’d say you’d understand if you were in my position—but you’re in my head and you still don’t, so maybe this is on you and your comprehension skills.” 

The words cut coldly, like a well-sharpened knife.

Just how much practice does Jinyoung have avoiding this issue?

_Even from where I’m looking,_ Bambam says, _it seems pretty straightforward._

“It’s straightforward if you’re only looking at what’s right in front of your face,” Jinyoung snaps. “What about down the line? In the future? Five years from now? Ten? What about that is straightforward?”

If Bambam had hands of his own, he’d throw them up in frustration. He wasn’t actually this dense at Jinyoung’s age, was he? _Nothing in life worth having is straightforward. When I started my own company, do you think that was straightforward? When I moved across the country? When I—_

“God, you really are older than you looked,” Jinyoung groans. “You sound like my parents—no, you sound like my _grandparents—_”

_Because you’re being stubborn!_ Jesus, Bambam misses conversation with someone gentle, someone who knows what he’s trying to say even when he says it poorly.

“Because you don’t know my life! Just because you lived your own life and have your experiences and—and whatever else, it doesn’t mean you know what’s best for me.”

_I may not know your whole life story,_ Bambam says, _but you’re not the only pining idiot the world’s ever seen._

“Right, sorry. I forgot that everyone who’s ever had an unrequited crush has the right to poke around in my personal life.” Jinyoung barks out a short, mirthless laugh. “God, why are we even talking about this?”

The truth is right there—but Bambam gets the feeling that being honest about trying to inflict cosmic interference on this aspect of Jinyoung’s life will only make him dig his heels in even more. He wonders if it’s too late to ask Youngjae for a reassignment.

He settles on saying, _I’m here to help you learn that some risks are worth taking. It seemed like the obvious choice. If you weren’t like this, anyway._

“Like—?” Even if Bambam couldn’t feel the thoughts rushing forward to dispute him, he’d be able to tell from Jinyoung’s voice that he’s just barely holding back from tearing into him again. “You know what? Let’s focus on getting you out of my head so we can actually have a conversation.”

A conversation probably isn’t exactly what Jinyoung has in mind, but Bambam is already worn out just from experiencing all of Jinyoung’s thoughts and emotions on top of his own, so he doesn’t prod any further. _But where am I supposed to go?_

"It's not like you first manifested inside me," Jinyoung grumbles. "Can't you just—I don't know, fall out the same way you fell in?"

_Trust me, I've been trying._ And he has. While Jinyoung keeps a tight rein on his emotions to prevent them from spilling out where people can see them, Bambam can't escape their intensity when he's stuck in Jinyoung's head along with him. _But I wasn’t…fully there before, you know?_

“No, I don’t know,” Jinyoung replies peevishly. “All I know is you showed up in my apartment, terrorized me, and then jumped into my brain without even asking first.”

_It’s not like I knew it was going to happen!_ Bambam protests. _I didn’t ask for any of this either. I was just trying to die in peace, not come back down here and get bitched at by someone a third of my age._

“A third of your age? You looked younger than me. I mean, when I could see you.”

_This is the form I woke up in,_ Bambam replies. _Don’t get me wrong, I was a silver fox—_

“Ugh, god, please don’t—”

_—but this was always my favorite._ Bambam sighs. _Anyway, my point is—you ought to have some respect for your elders._

“Let’s make a deal.” Jinyoung sits up. “You get out of my head and then we can talk about respect. Okay?”

_Okay,_ Bambam says dubiously. _But I’m really not sure about how well this is going to work._

“It has to,” Jinyoung says firmly. “It’s not like you’re meant to be in here with me. There must be a way to get you out again.”

* * *

“This is _ridiculous._” Jinyoung throws himself down onto the couch and wraps a blanket around himself. Bambam can’t blame him—the process of testing Bambam’s boundaries and abilities by bouncing out of Jinyoung’s body and snapping back into it have left him feeling fatigued even without a body of his own.

Now that his form has found a…host, for lack of a better word (even if it makes Bambam’s skin crawl), he can’t seem to free himself from Jinyoung without clinging to another energy source. So far, he’s inhabited a desk lamp, the ceiling fan, and a toaster. None gave him any ability to communicate—although he had gotten some amusement from making the toaster pop and seeing Jinyoung jump, no matter how smoothly he tried to play it off afterward.

For now, he’s back in Jinyoung’s body. He isn’t sure if it’s the exertion, his imagination, or something more sinister, but he feels wrung out and worn thin.

“Okay. Fine.” Jinyoung huffs. “So you’re here with no way out. Perfect.”

_Well,_ Bambam points out. _There is a way._

Jinyoung groans. “What, learning to take risks? Should I go skydiving or something to please Saint Peter?”

_I didn’t meet a Peter,_ Bambam says. _Just a Youngjae. And I don’t think skydiving was the kind of risk they had in mind._

“This isn’t fair,” Jinyoung grumbles. “No one else has to deal with a ghost in their brain.”

_Apparently a lot of people do, though,_ Bambam says. _Well, I guess you’re kind of getting special treatment because you’re stubborn as hell and I, uh, fucked up a little—_

“A _little?_”

_How was I supposed to know you’d come out armed and ready just because I knocked over a bowl? And it’s not like I had time to get used to being…whatever I was, either. I just got dropped into your apartment and had to figure things out on the fly._

Jinyoung pulls a face. “What kind of system is that? Were they setting you up to fail?”

_Maybe not to fail, but…_ Bambam thinks of Youngjae. _They might be getting a good laugh out of all this._

Jinyoung sighs. “All those times I joked about someone up there laughing at me, I didn’t think I was signing myself up for something like this.”

_Yeah? Imagine actually having your eternal fate in the hands of someone too chicken to just kiss someone who’s clearly in love with them already—_

“Will you just let it _go?_ It’s going to be hard enough to go about my life without—” He stops and drops his head into his hands. “Oh, god, how am I supposed to work like this?”

_I can help,_ Bambam offers.

“Right,” Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you have a wealth of knowledge when it comes to dealing with children.”

And just like that, the ache is back. Bambam is grateful the emotional bleed between them only goes one way. _Not my own, no. But my—I had nieces and nephews, you know._

Bambam can feel the aggression in Jinyoung’s thoughts recoil, gone sour with…shame? He wonders if Jinyoung still hasn’t fully processed that Bambam was a person before he became a voice in his head.

“You probably spoiled them rotten,” Jinyoung says, but there’s no acidity to it.

_Of course._ Bambam goes for a light tone. _Otherwise, what’s the point of getting rich and pressuring your family members to pop out chubby little babies?_

Jinyoung snorts. “You really are like my parents.”

_Absolutely. You should respect your elders. Call me hyung._

That startles a genuine laugh out of Jinyoung. “Yeah, right. If anything, I’d call you ahjussi. And you aren’t even Korean, are you? How’d you know that?”

Well. Maybe the ache will just be constant—not anything new, but he’d thought he was done with this. _I have friends from everywhere._

There’s a beat of silence. Bambam wishes he could act like it was comfortable, but he’s too aware of Jinyoung’s racing thoughts struggling to shape themselves around…him. The fact that he existed.

Uneasy with the spiraling discomfort of Jinyoung’s thoughts, Bambam offers, _Why don’t you get ready for bed? You have work tomorrow, right?_

Jinyoung makes a sullen noise of assent.

_It’ll be better after you sleep on it anyway,_ Bambam coaxes. It’s advice that had always bothered him, largely because it had always been true. It seems to have a similar effect on Jinyoung.

He leverages himself up off the couch with a groan, throwing the blanket haphazardly over the back. “I guess.” He starts to shuffle toward the bedroom. “I mean, it’s not like there’s anything else I can—”

Suddenly, panic floods into Jinyoung’s brain, electrifying and icy.

_What?_ Bambam asks. _What’s wrong?_

“If I’m going to bed, I have to…” Jinyoung is so mortified that Bambam wonders if he’d be able to make out his voice if he weren’t inside his head. “I have to get ready to shower.”

_Oh. Okay?_ Bambam relaxes. _Jesus, you had me thinking it was something serious._

“It _is_ serious!” Jinyoung hisses. “You have to promise to—to close your eyes or something.”

_My eyes are your eyes,_ Bambam points out.

Jinyoung groans and sinks into a squat in the middle of the floor.

Bambam holds back a sigh. He gets the feeling that their problems have only just begun.


	2. Chapter 2

It makes the most sense, really, to observe Jinyoung’s daily life and figure out how to tackle his assignment from there. Clearly, _straightforward_ isn’t Jinyoung’s thing, so Bambam is willing to do what he has to do. After the fiasco of yesterday, he isn’t sure what to expect from Jinyoung.

But he knows he isn’t expecting this.

It turns out that when Jinyoung isn’t in a state of high-octane panic over a not-quite-dead entity dropping into his brain, he’s surprisingly…sweet. Friendly. Hell, Bambam might even say easygoing.

“Be more careful, Hyunjin,” Jinyoung warns as he presses an eraser that’s seen better days into a tiny, chubby palm. “If you lose this one, I’m not giving you another one.” It might hold a little more weight if it wasn’t the third time today he’d said it to this particular kid.

In the week that Bambam has spent watching Jinyoung with his kids, he hardly recognizes him as the man who'd snapped and panicked his way through their first day together. Then again, Bambam figures, he doesn't think many people would be themselves with someone else in their head.

But even beyond that, Jinyoung is softer and more indulgent around his kids than he is with anyone else. Bambam still catches glimpses of sharpness when he's joking around with his coworker Wonpil, or on Thursday when friends from college drag him to some happy hour (Bambam can't help but feel a little smug when they bring up Jaebeom's absence—every new piece of information he gathers about the two of them gives him a better idea of how to tackle his assignment).

When he's at work, though, Jinyoung is exactly the kind of soft that makes his kids blossom under his supervision—the shy ones in particular cling to him, seeking out the reactions he plays up just for them or holding his hand whenever he leads the class through the building.

The fondness Jinyoung holds for each of them is so encompassing that Bambam can't see anything else at first. Then again, it probably doesn't help that Jinyoung seems adept at sidestepping the maneuverings of his own mind. Bambam is still in the process of learning to identify his emotions even when Jinyoung refuses to acknowledge them.

But there are times when the feelings break the surface, when they become clear enough that Bambam can start to piece them together beyond stolen fragments. It takes him a few days to realize it happens more often when Jinyoung's around certain kids—but when he does, the reason is blindingly obvious.

“Ooh, Yeji, what’re you drawing here?” Jinyoung’s knees crack as he crouches down by the low table.

She brandishes the paper at him and says sweetly, “It’s a chicken.”

“Oh, wow!” Jinyoung takes the paper from her and makes the appropriate awed noises.

_Are you going to tell her?_ Bambam asks. _I mean, you’re a teacher, I feel like you should tell her chickens only have two legs._

“It’s beautiful,” Jinyoung says aloud with an unruffled smile. If Bambam didn’t know better, he’d say Jinyoung is getting used to him.

A bright smile breaks across Yeji's face, her eyes crinkling happily. Bambam can feel the way Jinyoung's thoughts stutter slightly, like jumbled film in a projector switching between images.

"Draw with me?" She sounds so hopeful as she holds out a marker—even if she weren't one of Jinyoung's favorites already, Bambam doesn't think he'd stand a chance against those eyes.

"You know I don't know how to draw very well," Jinyoung complains, but he takes the marker from her hand anyway and slides an abandoned, half-filled piece of paper toward himself.

"My dad says as long as you practice at something, you always get better. So if you just draw the same thing over and over and over and _over_"—her feet swing beneath the table in rhythm with each _over_—"then you'll be a good draw-er!"

"Artist," Jinyoung corrects gently. He uncaps the marker and angles the paper. "A drawer is where you put things."

"Artist," Yeji repeats dutifully. "So what are you gonna draw?"

Jinyoung hums in thought. "I don't know." But his hands are already moving, as if out of habit.

He wasn't lying—he's not a stellar artist by any stretch of the imagination—but the motions seem surprisingly sure, all things considered. Crescent eyes shut in a smile, a little button for a nose, a rounded caricature of a mouth, whiskers. A fat oval for a head, with two little gaps to put lopsided triangular ears.

It takes Bambam a moment to place it. When he does, he only just holds back from making a smartass comment where Jinyoung can hear it. He settles for saying ,_Cute._ Jinyoung ignores him.

"A kitty!" Yeji says gleefully when she sees Jinyoung's drawing. "What's her name?"

"Ah—" Bambam feels Jinyoung grab the first name that surfaces. "Nora."

"Nora?" Yeji tilts her head.

The images in Jinyoung's brain stutter and shift again. Bambam has gotten used to watching how Jinyoung's mind will make one face melt into the other and back again—after all, Yeji's resemblance to Jaebeom is hard to deny.

This time, though, it isn't a shift back and forth between them, one at a time. Instead, they're there together—Jaebeom and a face like his own, but small and round and bright—Jaebeom with wide, nervous eyes and exceedingly cautious hands—twin smiles turning toward them, toward _Jinyoung—_

“It’s…my best friend’s cat,” Jinyoung says. “She actually has a brown face and ears, but I can’t really do that with just a purple marker—”

Yeji immediately starts rolling all the markers on the table toward her and hunting for the right colors. Her face scrunches up in concentration as she searches, holding up a marker every now and then for Jinyoung’s approval. Jinyoung laughs, but dutifully selects the appropriate colors and sets to drawing again.

Even inside Jinyoung’s head, Bambam feels like he’s watching from the outside. Does Jinyoung even realize the connections his mind is making, the daydreams swirling at the edges of his thoughts? Does he know how these thoughts feel—like a condemnation to his denial, like salvation to the hopes he doesn’t let himself have? How is he going to react if Bambam simply points out the truth?

Well. There’s only one way to find out.

* * *

_Happy Friday,_ Bambam says cheerfully as he watches Jinyoung pull the tab on a can of beer. _Aren’t you a social butterfly?_

“I socialized yesterday,” Jinyoung grumbles. He lets himself fall onto the couch with a noise Bambam would categorize as elderly—and he would know. He hits play on the movie he’s selected, some indie drama Bambam’s never heard of. “And I’m around people all the time at work. Tonight, I have a date with me, myself, and I, thanks.”

Bambam thinks back to what Jaebeom had said during that chaotic first meeting—_you need “Jinyoung time.”_ Speaking of which—

_Jaebeom’s coming home tonight, right?_ As if he doesn’t know. As if he hasn’t watched them text each other mismatched good nights and good mornings every day across time zones. Still, he hasn’t broached the subject in the week since his arrival, and it seems like it’s paying off. At least, Jinyoung isn’t rearing back to bite his head off already.

Then again, that might just be because of the giddy rush that washes over Jinyoung’s mind at the mention. He slugs back an inadvisable amount of beer and shivers at the cold fizz. “Yeah, but I probably won’t see him until tomorrow. Or the day after. Or whenever we’re both not busy, you know, it’s not a big deal.”

_Right. So, what’s he up to over there?_

Jinyoung snorts. “That wasn’t in the file your guardian angel boss gave you or whatever?” He pauses. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

That’s fair, Bambam figures. And he’ll eventually find out one way or another, anyway.

“Anyway,” Jinyoung starts, “your weird bureaucratic idea of the afterlife aside—”

_Nothing about this was my idea—_

“It’s partly just to visit,” Jinyoung continues as if he hadn’t heard anything. “Jaebeom moved here from Korea when he was little and he still has a lot of family over there. But he also has this Korean producer friend he met at some thing in…Los Angeles? Or maybe it was the New York trip? Either way, they’ve been trying to make something work for a long time and Jaebeom figured he’d make a trip of it since he goes back kind of regularly, anyway.”

_A producer?_ Bambam contemplates that for a moment. _So, you’re telling me he’s this cool sexy musician who flies all over the world—_

Jinyoung doesn’t react outwardly beyond taking another gulp of beer, but Bambam can feel the same unfurling warmth in his chest as when his kids answer a particularly difficult question—pride, simple and golden and selfless. Images pass unbidden into Bambam’s thoughts, images of his own hidden away from Jinyoung. Dance halls, stages, an intimate studio.

He leans into Jinyoung’s thoughts instead.

_So, he flies all over and meets other people like him._ It probably isn’t…nice, what he’s doing. But he tells himself it’s for Jinyoung’s good (and ignores the nagging guilt that casts doubt on that particular excuse).

Jinyoung’s stomach flips at that, uncomfortable with nothing but beer and some peanuts in it. He takes another swig, as if that will help anything. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

_But that’s how it is, isn’t it?_

“Yeah, but it—” Jinyoung doesn’t finish his sentence out loud, but Bambam can hear it anyway. _It makes me feel bad._

_Why?_

“You—” Jinyoung stares at the screen, none of the words registering in his mind. It’s too busy suppressing anything like a real answer to Bambam’s question. “I can’t miss my best friend?”

_I mean, of course, you can miss him. But it’s been less than a week since you saw him, right? You hadn’t seen that friend who took you to happy hour yesterday—Jake? Jack?_

“Jackson.”

_Right, you hadn’t seen him for longer._

“I miss Jackson too,” Jinyoung insists. He isn’t lying—the gradual distance of adulthood after college is undeniable, especially for someone close enough to have shared an apartment with him and Jaebeom back in the day.

_But…?_

“But nothing,” Jinyoung says stubbornly. “What’s your point? Just to ruin my night?”

The uncomfortable feeling has settled sourly in the pit of Jinyoung’s stomach, and Bambam’s guilt surges forward again, irrepressible this time. For all the cutthroat reputation of his industry, Bambam was never good at this part of things even in his life—finding people’s soft spots and pressing on them to his own advantage. Even when he let his emotions get the better of himself and his mouth moved faster than his mind, he never relished holding power over people.

He eases back a bit, opting for an approach that doesn’t bring back whispered reprimands from a life past. _My point is, it’s obviously something special._ He pauses. _On both sides._

A light feeling leaps in Jinyoung’s chest. Still, he persists. “You’re not in his head.”

_I don’t have to be,_ Bambam replies. _He’s a gorgeous thing—_

“I really don’t need to hear this—”

_A gorgeous thing,_ Bambam repeats firmly, _who could probably have his pick when it comes to who he wants to spend his time with._ Before Jinyoung can snap at him, he continues, _But when he had just a few spare minutes before going to the airport, he wanted to come spend them with you._

Jinyoung takes a deep breath. “And?”

_And?_ Bambam repeats incredulously. _You think that isn’t commitment? You think that isn’t something special?_

“That was just one thing,” Jinyoung argues. “And the first thing you saw when you hijacked my life—”

_It isn’t just one thing,_ Bambam fires back. _What about his keychain? The only thing you know how to draw is his cat, but he still finds some way to carry it with him everywhere? You’re still with him on every single one of his trips, you know._

The memory of Jaebeom’s thumb rubbing into the center of the disk, a shining indentation born of a comfortable habit, flashes across Jinyoung’s mind. It brings a singing thrill with it—but Bambam can tell from how quickly Jinyoung swats it away that this is far from the first time he’s had that realization.

“I already told you the last time,” Jinyoung grits out. “It isn’t so straightforward.”

_So what is straightforward, then?_ Bambam demands. _Missing him and waiting for him to come home, but feeling guilty because you think you have no right? Going to work every day and wondering what it’d be like to see him with kids of his—no, kids of your own?_

As soon as the words are out there, Bambam knows he’s gone too far.

The subdued emotion still bubbling in Jinyoung suddenly goes flat. “What did you just say?”

Bambam hesitates, wondering if he can worm his way out of this, but it isn’t as if Jinyoung can mishear something in his own head. He braces himself and speaks.

_When you were drawing with Yeji._

“What about it?”

_I saw…some images,_ Bambam admits. _Your thoughts—or daydreams, fantasies, I guess. It wasn’t super clear, just—_

“Just.” Jinyoung laughs. There’s no humor to it. “_Just._ Like you didn’t see—like that isn’t—” He hisses a breath in slowly through his teeth. “You had no right to see that.”

_I—I know, but I’m here and I don’t know how to—_

“Then _learn_ how to.” Jinyoung doesn’t sound like himself, not how Bambam is used to hearing him anyway. His voice is harsher than Bambam’s heard it and he wishes he could recoil from it. “I’ve let you stay in my head for a week without complaining—”

_Well—_

“Don’t,” Jinyoung warns. "You don't get to be in my head and see every single thought I have and then think you have the right to judge me. Do you think you'd come out of it looking good, if someone could see even the thoughts you wish didn't cross your mind? Do you think this is _fair?_" The sound of Jinyoung's voice rising matches the fever pitch of his thrashing thoughts.

Bambam wants to say a million things in reply. He wants to say _I don't think it's fair to either of us,_ or _I didn't ask to be here,_ or even _I'm not judging you because I've been you—_

But he's saved from probably making a mistake by the chime of Jinyoung's cellphone cutting through the room.

Jinyoung is still glowering as he checks his screen, but the name on the screen sends relief washing over Bambam.

Jinyoung raises the phone to his ear. "Jaebeom? Did everything go all right with your flight?"

“Yeah,” comes Jaebeom’s voice down the line. Bambam can feel how, even slightly distorted through the phone, the sound wraps warmly around Jinyoung’s thoughts, muffling the way they buzz like an angry hive. “I’m in a cab headed back to my apartment now.”

“You didn’t have to pay for a cab,” Jinyoung says, slightly affronted. “I could’ve picked you up.”

“I know, I know, but my flight got in early and the airport’s a long way out from your place.”

Jinyoung pouts and it reminds Bambam more than a little of the kindergartners he works with. “It sounds like you’re just avoiding me.”

Jaebeom laughs. “If I were avoiding you, would I have called you right now?”

“Well.” In the pause before Jinyoung speaks again, Bambam can feel the tension in his mind, the way he flits back and forth between eagerly playful and carefully aloof. “I…_guess_ not. Why did you call?”

“I wanted to spend time with you,” Jaebeom says easily. “If you’d like.”

A light, sparkling feeling dances through Jinyoung’s gut. Bambam barely holds himself back from commenting on it. “It’s awfully late.”

“You can stay the night,” Jaebeom replies. “I still have a bunch of your stuff over here, so don’t worry about toiletries or anything. You can borrow some stuff to sleep in.”

Jinyoung pulls the phone away from his ear and presses his thumb and forefinger hard at his temples. Images flash in front of Bambam painfully bright, as if they’re being forcefully beamed into existence—sleepovers with two boys, ranging from soft-cheeked kids to gangly teens, tossing each other shirts and shorts, changing in front of each other without a care, sharing a bed and tangling up their limbs and bickering and laughing the entire time—

After a deep breath, Jinyoung puts the phone back to his ear and says lightly, “Sounds good!”

“Great.” Even without being in Jinyoung’s head, Bambam would be able to hear the smile in Jaebeom’s voice. “I should be back at my place in about thirty minutes, you want to meet in forty-five?”

“Yeah, that works,” Jinyoung says nonchalantly as his mind immediately begins cataloging what he needs to bring and what time to leave when accounting for traffic. “See you then?”

“Yup.” Jaebeom pronounces the short syllable surprisingly cutely, a little pop on the _p._ “Jinyoungie?”

The nickname feels like it carries an echo in Jinyoung’s memory. “Yeah?”

Jaebeom’s voice is low and soft like he’s telling a secret when he says, “I’ve missed you.”

Jinyoung lets out a little huff of laughter, less amused and more fond. “I’ve missed you too. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Once he’s hung up the phone, the tone of Jinyoung’s thoughts swerves immediately. It matches the cutting edge to his voice when he says, “I don’t want to hear a single word out of you about Jaebeom, or me, or how I feel about him, or how you _think_ I should feel about him, all right?”

It’s a harsher reprimand than he’s given any of his kids, and Bambam wishes he could shrink back from it instead of being surrounded by Jinyoung’s thoughts. As it is, Bambam tries to make himself as small as possible, drawing back as best he can and trying to conceptualize tucking himself into an untouchable corner.

_All right,_ he replies. Giving up like this makes dread drip coldly through what consciousness he has. _Whatever you say._

* * *

Bambam has lived through a number of painful silences in his life, but nothing quite tops being ignored by the person whose head you’re inhabiting.

He doesn’t try to push it. Even with the balm of Jaebeom's phone call, Jinyoung's mind feels abuzz and tender, and Bambam can easily imagine him lashing out like a wounded animal.

Still, it's hard to keep entirely to himself in the silence of the car ride. Even when he's holding himself back from talking to Jinyoung, he can't seem to shut off whatever connection there is that lets Jinyoung's emotions flow around and into him. It feels as if he's been thrown into the ocean and ordered to stay dry.

No matter what thoughts and feelings he picks up—and he picks up plenty, anticipation and embarrassment and giddiness and anger all swirling inside Jinyoung in a nauseating, overwhelming mix—he stays quiet. Even though their connection has been one-way so far, Bambam tries not to even think too loudly.

It's proving to be a difficult task, though. As freaked out as Jinyoung is, Bambam can't say he's faring much better. Not when he tries to chart out a new course to complete his mission and keeps running into the same wall over and over again—Jinyoung had said to drop the topic and Bambam doesn't know when he'll lift the ban. Hell, he doesn't know if he ever will. And then where will Bambam be? Stuck in Jinyoung's body forever? Banished from both the afterlife and the world of the living? Hanging suspended in time and space, untouchable and inaudible and _alone_ for eternity—

He wishes he could wrap his arms around himself, give himself a hug. He wishes someone else could.

Bambam tries not to be greedy when Jaebeom opens the door and immediately envelops Jinyoung in his arms, but when sweet comfort rolls over him—well, Bambam's learned by now that there isn't any point in trying to cut himself off from Jinyoung's feelings. So, he may as well appreciate it.

Jinyoung's hands come up to cling at Jaebeom's back, a little more desperate and unrefined than Bambam has seen him be with anyone else. "How was your trip?"

"Amazing." Jaebeom squeezes him tight around the waist, pushing the breath right out of Jinyoung's lungs, and then pulls back. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is an unwashed mess, but his entire face is lit up with a beaming grin. "We got so much more done than we could remotely, and we've been trying out this new program and it sounds so _good,_ Jinyoungie, and then I got to meet up with—"

The words flow out of him in a happily burbling stream, cleansing the lingering unhappiness from Jinyoung's mind. Jinyoung simply watches and listens, still holding onto Jaebeom's elbows to keep him close.

"It sounds like you had a really great time," Jinyoung says with a smile.

"Yeah." Jaebeom sighs happily. "Missed you, though."

"Of course, you did," Jinyoung replies, tilting his chin upward smugly. Jaebeom snorts and slaps lightly at his hip. It draws a whine from Jinyoung and he wriggles out of Jaebeom's arms, crosses his arms over his chest, and pouts at the wall. This only makes Jaebeom laugh again, his hand easily finding the small of Jinyoung's back and resting there comfortably.

Jaebeom’s presence fills a hollow that Bambam has been tiptoeing around for the past week, too tender on his own to bear the brunt of Jinyoung’s yearning too.

After a few moments, Jinyoung says quietly, "I missed you too."

* * *

Considering the urgency with which Jinyoung had set out for Jaebeom’s house, the pair doesn’t do much worth noting—which Bambam, of course, notes.

He almost wants to ask Jinyoung if he realizes how precious it is to find someone so easy to simply exist alongside, someone who fills a room and a heart with contentment and ease, someone whose silence slots so easily alongside his own. But Jinyoung’s warning from earlier still hangs over him and he doesn’t want to have another fight, especially not in front of Jaebeom.

And besides—he thinks Jinyoung does realize.

There’s a lingering bittersweetness to Jinyoung’s feelings around Jaebeom, full and aged and complex. It’s that deep, tantalizing _wanting_ that comes only from knowing you wouldn’t want anything more. Jaebeom nestles into Jinyoung’s mind and heart in a cherished space, like skin warming well-loved leather or a thumb over a worn keychain.

Bambam knows it’s easy to be stubbornly obtuse about these things. Still, while “stubborn” fits Jinyoung perfectly well—better than Bambam would like, if he’s being honest—obtuse doesn’t seem to hit the target. At least, not in this situation.

He doesn’t bring it up until they’re properly alone again, which doesn’t happen until Monday morning, when Jinyoung’s driving from Jaebeom’s place to his own and then to work. Apparently, Jinyoung’s idea of avoiding risk entails having a drawer at Jaebeom’s place. And a medicine cabinet shelf. And a tooth-rotting number of Home Run Balls from the Asian market in the pantry.

As Jinyoung had been about to dash out the door, Jaebeom had hovered with uncharacteristic nervousness. Bambam had sent up a prayer that maybe Jaebeom would do his job for him, confess his feelings for Jinyoung, and free Bambam from this limbo—but Youngjae either doesn’t have that power or wants to keep watching Bambam suffer (or prayers were a scam this whole time). All Jaebeom had blurted out was, “I have this thing on Friday. Networking, kind of. If you wanted to come with.”

Jinyoung had laughed even though Bambam could feel the fluttering joy rising in his chest. “Networking for you? And you want to bring a kindergarten teacher along…why, exactly?”

Jaebeom had shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve missed you. I want to spend some time together.”

Bambam had longed for a physical form for the express purpose of giving Jinyoung a good shake.

He’s managed to hold his tongue until now. There’s still something bright humming through Jinyoung that had grown in Jaebeom’s presence, and it makes Bambam tentatively hopeful.

He ventures, _So, you’re going to that thing with Jaebeom, right?_

“Oh, so you’re still here?” Jinyoung throws an unimpressed glance at the rear-view mirror so Bambam bears the full brunt of it. He has to admire the man’s dedication to his pique.

_I told you, I’m here until we accomplish my mission. I haven’t seen you taking any particularly daring risks lately._

“What do you want me to do?” Jinyoung says coolly. “Run a red light?”

_Maybe you could start with not avoiding my questions,_ Bambam fires back.

“Why should I have to?” Jinyoung demands. “And you always ask about the same damn thing. My friendship with Jaebeom has been the same for years, it’s not about to change between you asking yesterday and asking today—”

_ Yeah, well, maybe if you ever gave me a real answer— _

Jinyoung swings into the parking lot at the school and brings the car to a jolting halt. “Okay.”

_ Okay, you’re going to give me a real answer? _

“No,” Jinyoung says firmly. “You’re going to tell me the truth. You’re too damn fixated on Jaebeom and you won’t give me any other options so just—tell me what you really want from me.”

_ It’s not what I want from you,_ Bambam hedges. _It’s what I need. Because, you know, otherwise I’m just stuck here. And I don’t think either of us is thrilled about that. _

Jinyoung snorts. “You think so?”

_ That’s the impression I got, anyway._ Bambam hesitates. _I’d ask if you’d promise not to be mad, but going by past experience…. _

“That’s—” Jinyoung hisses in a breath and then lets it out slowly. When he speaks again, it’s deliberately measured. As if the tone of his voice can fool Bambam when he can feel the irritated thoughts beating at the constraints Jinyoung’s shoved them into. “I will…try to stay calm.”

_ I know it’s freaky for you,_ Bambam offers, trying to ease the way. _But I swear, I didn’t come down here like, oh yeah, let me just fuck around with this particular guy’s life and make things hard for him. I was just as blindsided as you. And I couldn’t exactly talk my way around an angel. _

Jinyoung sighs. “I know. It’s just—it’s so abstract, you know? I mean, there’s still a good chunk of my brain that says I’ve lost my absolute mind and ought to get my head checked.”

_ I don’t even know how that would work out for us, but I don’t think I want to find out. _

“I don’t think I do either.” Jinyoung turns the key in the ignition. It plunges them into true silence as the motor’s rumble cuts out. “So, let’s just—deal with this.”

_ Are you sure? Are you gonna be good to go into work after a conversation like this? _

“The kids will help me feel better after whatever you’re about to hit me with,” Jinyoung says shortly. “Just spit it out, I didn’t get here early enough to keep dancing around it like this.”

_ Okay. Well._ Bambam hesitates, trying to determine which starting point has the highest chance of success. Calculations point to none of them. _So, I wasn’t exactly…lying. I was telling the truth when I said I’m here to help you learn that some risks are worth taking. _

“But?”

_ But…the risk I’m supposed to help you with might have been a little more…specific than what I originally told you,_ Bambam admits. _Maybe a lot more specific, actually. _

The worst part about being inside Jinyoung’s head is being able to hear the pieces practically click into place. Why couldn’t he have gotten someone a little more stupid?

“Jaebeom.” Jinyoung says flatly. “That’s why you’re so fixated on him.”

_ Well,_ Bambam says with attempted delicacy, _it is a very important part of your life— _

“I’ve been getting matchmaking bullshit from friends and family for years,” Jinyoung fumes. “And now I’m getting it from some half-dead ghost who can’t even die properly—”

_ And whose fault is that?_ Bambam demands. _And you said you’d try to stay calm! _

“I am trying!” Jinyoung hisses. He clenches the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip, forces a breath in through his teeth, and lets it out. He sounds marginally calmer when he asks, “Do you realize how this fits into the larger picture of my life, though?”

_ Well, do you? _

Jinyoung huffs out a humorless laugh. “Yes, I’m perfectly aware, thanks.”

_ Then…why haven’t you— _

“You know that not everyone needs to have a romantic relationship to be happy, right?” Jinyoung snaps. “There are plenty of perfectly happy people in the world who never have to commit to that.”

_ But we’re not talking about everyone,_ Bambam points out. _We’re talking about you. _

“What about me?”

_ Yeah, other people can be happy without that,_ Bambam replies. _Hell, maybe you could be too if he wasn’t right there, I don’t know. But he is there and you want him. _

“You’re not saying anything I haven’t heard before,” Jinyoung says. His fingers tap rapidly at the steering wheel.

_ Then maybe you should listen. I’m literally inside your head, I can see how—how important he is to you, how much you care about him, and I know you can see how much he cares about you— _

“Of course we care about each other,” Jinyoung grits out. “We’ve been best friends since we were kids. Friends care about each other, you know, in case you weren’t aware, that’s no reason to—”

_ It’s not just the caring, though,_ Bambam interrupts. _It’s the wanting. _

“Shut up,” Jinyoung says tightly.

_ Because he takes up so much of you, like there’s a spot for him in your thoughts even when he isn’t with you— _

“I said shut up—”

_ —but even then, even though you have so much of him, you still want something different, you want the way you both know you’d fit together perfectly, but you still won’t go ahead and nudge the pieces into place because— _

Jinyoung’s hands smack down against the steering wheel. “Because it’s not worth the risk! You’re right, I do have a lot of him—he’s my best friend. And you make it sound so simple, to make the shift, and like the pieces that fit together perfectly will always fit together perfectly, like people don’t change all the time—”

_ You’ve stuck together this long, you obviously fit together through a lot of changes already— _

“As friends! We don’t go introducing new elements into it because—because throwing off the balance is a stupid idea when something is working perfectly fine already.”

_ You and Jaebeom deserve so much more than fine, though. _

Jinyoung snorts. “When did being deserving come into how love plays out?”

Bambam thinks of the relentless optimism that had shone over his own cynicism in his life. _Maybe it always does. And you only deserve it if you go for it. _

“Then I guess I don’t deserve it after all.” Jinyoung’s voice is clipped. “I need to head inside.”

_ Jinyoung— _

“No, Bambam.”

His refusal slams down like a guillotine. Bambam wonders if it was worse to have felt hope at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Bambam doesn't know if he's ever seen Jinyoung around this many people before—at least, not people who are taller than his hip. Even as Jinyoung chats and laughs and charms his way through conversational partners, Bambam can feel tension at his core, like a low, constant hum. Jinyoung clings to Jaebeom's side as much as possible without making it blatant.

It isn't that Bambam is trying to poke around Jinyoung's head. Hell, in the days since their last conversation had gone over like a lead balloon, Bambam’s been trying to make himself smaller than ever. He hasn't forgotten his mission, but that doesn't mean he's trying to make both Jinyoung and himself miserable. He's gotten better at closing himself off from the bulk of Jinyoung's thoughts and feelings. Rather than experiencing them as a deluge, like an endless outpouring, now he's found an eye to the storm. Sure, it means being constantly vigilant and trying to fold himself so small that he feels suffocated, but he figures it's better than the alternative. For now.

For his part, Jaebeom doesn't seem to mind. If anything, he seems grounded by his presence.

Bambam’s impression of Jaebeom, both from his experience watching him and the flashes of memories he’s gotten from Jinyoung, has been of someone introverted, blunt but warm. Now, though, his face is animated as he catches up with so many people it’d make Bambam’s head spin if he wasn’t used to this song-and-dance from his own life.

It’s endearing to see this side of Jaebeom. In fact, he’s so dazzling, so magnetic that it takes Bambam a while to realize that the enchantment isn’t entirely his own.

Once he realizes that Jinyoung’s fondness is seeping into his consciousness even when he shrinks in on himself as much as he can, Bambam tries valiantly to fight it off.

It seems pointless, though. Witnessing Jaebeom like this, giddy and punch-drunk off being around friends, is enough to kick Jinyoung’s emotions into overdrive. Funnily enough, even though Jinyoung had struck him as the possessive type, jealousy is notably absent in the insistent press of thoughts and feelings surrounding Bambam.

Instead, Jinyoung’s heart and mind ring with bright, golden pride, as if his love for Jaebeom multiplies by its witnesses. Jaebeom’s obvious happiness is fuel for Jinyoung’s own to blaze ever warmer. The two of them spark in a closed circuit of hands on the smalls of backs and soundless conversations.

It’s impossible to avoid, so instead Bambam tries to fix his focus on something else, anything else—but it only seems to get more and more difficult, and he doesn’t think it’s entirely Jinyoung’s overpowering feelings. Bambam feels faded and worn, like those days in his twenties when he’d run himself ragged working like he’d had something to prove.

There’s no reason for it now, though. There’s no reason for Bambam to feel like a flickering flame, like a fraying rope, not when he made it until now on his own. At least, not any reason he wants to dwell on for too long.

Well, he figures, if nothing else, the art and music scene has always had its fair share of intriguing personalities to distract him from his own mind. He takes in the people around him—grungy musician-types like Jaebeom, doll-like folks as pretty as Jinyoung and likely models, the familiar lithe but powerful silhouettes of dancers—

Bambam curls back into a corner of Jinyoung’s mind. He’ll take Jinyoung’s ire, he decides, even if he doesn’t think he earned it.

No matter what words Jinyoung throws at him, they’ll hurt less than this ever-deepening ache splitting Bambam in two.

* * *

Bambam savors the humor of Jinyoung’s absolute inability to hold his liquor. Sure, he’s acquainted with it from the odd happy hour and lonely beer Jinyoung’s had while they’ve been together, but the contrast between Jinyoung’s usual self-conscious restraint and this bubbly dizzy softness is refreshing. For once, the emotions that Bambam’s been trying so hard to avoid brushing against are out in the open, the combination of warmth and drowsiness dissolving the boundaries he draws so sharply.

Well, Bambam figures. If nothing else, it’ll be as good an excuse as any if Jinyoung realizes Bambam is still failing at keeping out of his feelings.

He doesn’t hold out hope that Jinyoung will drunkenly confess to Jaebeom. Even like this, with love flowing out from Jinyoung and back in from Jaebeom in return, the moat Jinyoung’s dug around those particular feelings is too deep to ford.

By the time they’re leaving the party, Jinyoung is wrapped tight against Jaebeom’s side. He isn’t falling-down drunk, but sleep is tugging at his eyelids and self-control. Jaebeom seems well-acquainted with this situation, in any case.

“Look at you.” Jaebeom chuckles, his arm tighter around Jinyoung’s waist than it probably needs to be. “Such a lightweight.”

Jinyoung’s head flops onto Jaebeom’s shoulder as he whines, “It’s not that I’m _drunk,_ it’s just that I’m sleepy. There’s a difference.”

“Not when you’re a sleepy drunk.” Jaebeom manages to get the car door open even with an unwieldy Jinyoung in one arm and coaxes him into the passenger side. His hand hovers between Jinyoung’s head and the roof of the car until he’s situated.

“Not drunk,” Jinyoung mumbles again as his head tilts against the window and he slouches uncharacteristically. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind that Jaebeom can’t hear him since he’s walking around to the driver’s side.

Once Jaebeom is buckled in and the engine has rumbled to life, he hesitates. Looking over at Jinyoung, he asks, “Home, or…?”

“Mmm, home.” Jinyoung humbles, eyes slipping half-closed. “Miss my bed.”

Bambam can feel how sluggish Jinyoung’s thoughts have grown around him, so he understands how he misses it. Still, even through his own haziness he can see how Jaebeom’s face falls, though he tries to hide it by pretending to fiddle with his shirt buttons.

He knows he can’t, but there’s a part of Bambam that wishes he could leap out of Jinyoung’s mind and into Jaebeom’s. That way he could tell him that Jinyoung’s idea of _home_ would always be where Jaebeom is.

All he can do is watch as Jaebeom puts the car into gear and starts driving.

* * *

Jinyoung manages to resist the urge to fall immediately into bed when he gets home, although Bambam can feel it tugging at the back of his mind. He splashes water on his face enough to call it washing up and it sends a little shock through even the dense warmth of tipsy sleepiness.

With a groan, he buries his face in a towel. “You’ve been quiet.” His voice is muffled in the fabric, but it isn’t as if Bambam really needs to hear his voice to know what he’s saying.

_I thought that’s what you wanted._

Jinyoung lets the towel drop in a heap on the vanity. “Yeah, but it’s—it’s weird.”

_All of this is weird._

“You sound…” Jinyoung hesitates. “You sound kind of…quieter. Like you’re speaking from further away.”

Bambam is too weary to argue._I guess it feels like that too. Distant._

He feels worry constrict around Jinyoung’s thoughts and he aches a bit. For all his faults, there’s a genuine kindness that runs through the core of Jinyoung, an ability to find sympathy even for an undead being that’s taken up residence in his mind.

Bambam wishes they’d met under better circumstances. He wonders: if Jaebeom had brought Jinyoung to a networking event earlier, if Bambam had been having one of his social days—

But there’s no point in wondering. He’s here. At least, for now.

Bambam shakes off the thought and tries to lift the mood instead. _You seemed like you were having a good time._

The shadow of a fond smile flickers over Jinyoung’s face. “Yeah, I did.”

_Didn’t need ‘Jinyoung time?’_ Bambam lets a slight teasing tone slip into his voice despite himself. Something about Jinyoung begs to be poked at.

“It’s different with—” Jinyoung cuts himself off. He flicks off the bathroom light, settles himself in bed, and wraps the blankets in a cocoon around his body.

Only then, in the darkness of the bedroom, does Jinyoung whisper, “I don’t need it with Jaebeom, really.”

The frustration wells up in Bambam until he can only let out a short laugh. _Yeah, I know what that’s like._

“What?”

_I know what it’s like finding someone you can be so much yourself with that just existing together is easy. With everyone else, there are always some layers, some extra kind of being that isn’t just being, you know? But with him, it’s—it’s like breathing._

Jinyoung’s hands fist tightly in the blankets. “Whenever we talk about this,” he says quietly, “I can tell there’s something you aren’t saying.”

Something like panic shoots through Bambam at the thought of Jinyoung reading his anxieties. _I mean, I didn’t tell you for a while what my mission actually was,_ he deflects.

“Even since then, though. Like just now, I could tell, there’s something more. Something about this whole situation that really gets to you. Something that’s made you dead set on making things turn out a certain way. I just can’t figure out _why._”

_Ha, dead set,_ Bambam repeats. _Maybe I’m always dead set, since I’m dead._

“Bambam.” There’s a sternness in his voice that Bambam recognizes from the kindergarten. “You’re already in my head. I can’t hide anything from you. So can I just…have some reciprocity, here?”

A part of Bambam instinctively wants to rebuff Jinyoung. Even in life, even with people he’d spent decades with, disclosing his emotions and worries had always been near the bottom of the list when it came to interacting with people. As far as he was concerned, that’s what his cats were for.

But Jinyoung has a point. It doesn’t seem like he’s any more inclined to opening his heart to strangers than Bambam was, and certainly not to the point of giving a front-row seat to his most deeply-held feelings.

Neither of them had asked for this, but it seems like they both need to bend. If they want to be free of each other, that is.

Then again, Bambam doesn’t know that being free from Jinyoung is exactly his goal. At this point, he feels almost endeared, even when he’s frustrated beyond belief. Sure, he’d rather not be living in his mind, but he doubts he’d want that with anyone, really.

The goal is to get to Yugyeom. The question now is where to start.

Part of him still wants to cling, wants to hoard his memories to himself like a dragon’s gold. But he’s seen Jinyoung’s most painful longing, his deepest doubts—surely, he can share this, just a little.

_This assignment wasn’t random, you know,_ Bambam starts. _I can’t remember exactly how they said it, but it was something like—I’m supposed to share a lesson I learned myself when I was alive, or help you with something I needed help with._

Even though his thoughts are buzzing with renewed wakefulness, Jinyoung remains silent. It leaves space for Bambam to lay out his thoughts and pick out which ones to share with Jinyoung—really, honestly share with him.

_I had a husband. Well, not for a long time, legally speaking, but—but he was always my husband, you know?_ The ache that has come to define this half-existence intensifies. _And he was my best friend._

“What was his name?” Jinyoung whispers as if he’s afraid to speak too loudly.

_Yugyeom._ The taste of his name feels like homesickness.

Jinyoung makes a small noise of realization. “That’s—that’s why you knew about Korean honorifics.”

_Yeah. He taught me…a lot of things._ Bambam tries to focus on the task at hand rather than letting old waves of grief overcome him. _Kind of like you and Jaebeom._

“That’s why. Why you get so worked up and frustrated.”

_Yeah._ Bambam sighs. _I took so long, too long to realize. Because when something feels so right, it seems like a stupid idea to change anything about it, right?_

There’s a heavy moment of silence. Bambam can feel Jinyoung’s thoughts shifting, preconceptions rearranging to fit around this new information.

Finally, Jinyoung says, “I’m sorry.”

_For what?_ Bambam laughs. _It’s not like I could blame you for being exactly the same as I was at your age._

“For saying you didn’t understand. For…presuming, I guess. And making things so difficult, especially when it already must be so hard.”

_It—it’s not easy,_ Bambam admits. _The last few years haven’t been. And then I thought I was going to see him again after it all was over, but instead I’m—_

“Stuck with me.”

_Don’t say it like that,_ Bambam admonishes. _It’s not you, it’s just—all of it. The whole system, the fact that people can’t just stay together always—_

“But you will, right?” Jinyoung interrupts softly. “After this. After you’ve completed your mission.”

_I think so. Like I said, they weren’t exactly the type to give a lot of detail._

“So, I need to take a risk. With Jaebeom.” Jinyoung pauses. “Which means what, exactly? Kiss him? Ask him to be my—boyfriend?” The word alone sends warmth sparking along the surface of Jinyoung’s thoughts.

_It’s more direct than that. You have to express your true feelings to him._ He thinks back to the pages Youngjae had walked him through. _You have to say the magic words._

“The magic words?”

_You know. I love you._

He can feel the way Jinyoung’s mind recoils. “I say that to him already,” he says. “I mean, not usually in so many words, and in a friendly way—”

_Yeah, I think the folks upstairs who sent my undead spirit to share your brain are pretty aware of your intentions when you say it,_ Bambam says dryly. _And that’s the whole point._

“It’s not like I don’t mean it when I say it,” Jinyoung insists. “I—I’m almost positive he knows, anyway.”

_I think it’s less about your meaning and him knowing,_ Bambam replies. _I think it’s more about acceptance on your end._

Jinyoung groans and rolls onto his back. “I’ve accepted that I’d rather have him in my life like this than risk losing him. How is that kind of acceptance not good enough for heaven?”

_They’re not looking for penance,_ Bambam reminds him. _They’re trying to actually help you._

“It doesn’t _feel_ like help, though.”

_Maybe the point is that you needed another perspective,_ Bambam points out. _From someone who’s lived it._

“What was he like?” Jinyoung asks abruptly. “Maybe if I hear more of your perspective, I’ll understand better.”

_He…._ Bambam is at a loss for where to start. _Like I said, he was my best friend._

“How’d you meet?”

_At a party. Not too different from where you went tonight._

“Why were you there?”

_I was trying to be somebody._ He knows, in reality, the party had probably been like any other—dim and humid and humming too low and too loud at the same time. But in his memory it feels halcyon, bathed in golden light. Then again, most of his life with Yugyeom feels like that when he thinks about it. When it doesn’t ache, anyway. _I was trying to network and connect with other designers and models, so I’d sweet-talked someone higher up than me at the company and was trying to act like I fit in there._ He wants to cringe and laugh at the same time. _Obviously, I didn’t. And he could tell._

“And he was…?”

_A dancer, but he was popular with everyone. He was just…easy to be around. Easy to love._ Bambam tries not to think about how strange it had been, adjusting to the cold emptiness after Yugyeom had gone. _And he saw me laughing too loud and trying to talk like I knew what was going on and decided to come talk to me._ Bambam snorts. _I never said he was smart._

“Shut up,” Jinyoung says amiably. “You can say whatever you want, but it’s obvious how much he means to you.”

_Yeah? Well, that’s how you sound when you talk about Jaebeom._

Jinyoung goes quiet. “It’s not just that,” he says after a moment. “When you were talking about him, I could feel…warmth. I could feel you, thinking about him.”

Bambam is torn in two directions. On the one hand, even after decades together, confirmation that he loves Yugyeom well enough, as well as he deserves, always feels more reassuring than it probably should.

On the other, Jinyoung’s never been able to feel him before. Between this and the way he feels worn down to threads, not to mention Youngjae’s unwillingness to address what might happen if he failed his mission, Bambam feels a dark foreboding gathering like storm clouds.

As if he can read Bambam’s mind—and maybe that isn’t as much of an impossibility now as Bambam had thought before—Jinyoung asks, “If I don’t…. If you can’t complete your mission, what’s going to happen to you?”

Bambam attempts a nonchalant tone. _Probably just reassignment or something. It seemed like a real bureaucratic mess up there, I’m sure they deal with things like this all the time._

Jinyoung doesn’t smile. “The way you sound so far away—is that my fault?”

_No,_ Bambam says with a confidence he doesn’t feel. _It’s probably just that you like me so much, you miss me even when I’m here._

That gets a half-hearted chuckle out of Jinyoung, and he turns onto his side to bury his face in his pillow. “Thank you,” he says. “For telling me about him.”

Bambam lets the combined weight of love and longing settle over him. _Thank you for listening._

* * *

Bambam gets the feeling that even if he and Jinyoung were normal living humans with their own bodies, they’d still have a tendency to get under each other’s skin, but things have become a bit easier. It’s an almost playful sort of friction as opposed to the way they’d clashed at the start. It makes Bambam wonder what it might’ve been like to live alongside Jinyoung, to really be a friend rather than an imposition.

At least the speculation helps to distract him from the growing ache and exhaustion.

He tries not to get his hopes up every time Jinyoung so much as texts Jaebeom, but it’s hard when their conversation had broken down the floodgates holding back his memories of Yugyeom. He tries his best to fend them off, especially since the barrier between his mind and Jinyoung’s seems to be deteriorating, but feeling Jinyoung’s love for Jaebeom feels too much like an echo for him to deny it.

It isn’t any easier when Jinyoung actually spends time with Jaebeom. In fact, it’s harder to deny when love is staring Jinyoung right back in the face and Bambam can see nothing but the reflection of something he’d had for so long.

Especially on a night like this—curled up on Jinyoung’s sofa with a pretentious movie playing on the TV and a bottle of soju each—it’s almost painfully blatant. When Bambam has been inside Jinyoung’s head on the nights he’s done this by himself, he can feel it. He can feel how much Jinyoung is simply himself with the warmth of Jaebeom pressed against him. Himself, but the happiest, most open parts.

When Jaebeom starts falling asleep on Jinyoung’s shoulder three-quarters through the film, Bambam can’t help but think of Yugyeom—on planes, on their couch at home, in bed when Bambam brought his work home and into the wee hours.

Jinyoung inhales sharply.

Jaebeom jolts and lifts his head. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Didn’t realize I was so sleepy.”

“You’re always sleepy,” Jinyoung replies, somehow reprimanding and fond at once. “It’s because you’ve messed up your sleep schedule so badly from being in the studio all the time. It isn’t good for you, you know.”

Jaebeom lets his head drop back to Jinyoung’s shoulder and groans. “It’s just—my neighbors have been moving furniture or something for the past few weeks. It’s driving me crazy.”

“If you weren’t nocturnal you wouldn’t have to worry about other people’s daytime noise.”

Jaebeom huffs out a laugh. The feeling is warm and close against Jinyoung’s collarbone where he’d undone a couple buttons after the alcohol had flushed him a delicate pink. “Okay, Mr. Park.”

Jinyoung’s thoughts veer toward school, toward children and wishes and— “Do you want to sleep in my bed?” Cold panic immediately douses his thoughts, not even the buzz of the soju helping to stave it off. “I mean, just for tonight, I didn’t—”

Jaebeom sits up to look at Jinyoung, eyes owlish. “If you’re okay with it,” he says. “I’d like that.”

Jinyoung swallows hard. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to, I just figured since you were over here anyway—”

“I know I don’t have to,” Jaebeom replies simply. “As long as you know you don’t have to offer? I can take the couch.”

“No,” Jinyoung insists. “If you haven’t been sleeping well, you need to rest up, and I’m not going to make you do that on the couch—”

“It’s just been a while,” Jaebeom says, “since we shared a bed.”

Bambam feels Jinyoung’s racing thoughts screech to a halt before picking back up to hurricane speeds. “Sharing…?” Before Jaebeom can say anything more, Jinyoung hastily adds, “I can take the couch if you’d prefer—not that I mind—”

“I’m not gonna kick you out of your own bed,” Jaebeom says firmly.

“Well,” Jinyoung says, every bit as stubborn, “I’m not making you sleep on the couch.”

There’s something between them, but it isn’t tense. Like a game of catch or the easy rhythm of call-and-response. Jaebeom’s eyes twinkle with a challenge, but he still hesitates. “If you want, though, I can still make it home to sleep.”

Bambam wonders if Jaebeom is thinking about how they’d gone their separate ways after the party, if he thought Jinyoung was trying to put distance between them. Bambam knows he was a bit recalcitrant about sharing his more vulnerable feelings during his life, but _really._ Jinyoung takes it to a whole new level.

Jinyoung narrows his eyes. “Will you actually sleep if I send you home, though? Or will you just end up in your studio until dawn again?”

Jaebeom snorts. “Want me to send you a picture when I’m in bed?”

Jinyoung sharply swerves his thoughts away from the turn they want to take. “Why don’t you just stay?” he says quickly. “That’ll make it easier on both of us.”

Bambam perks up—at least, as much as he can. This is closer than Jinyoung has allowed Jaebeom since Bambam arrived. Jinyoung always seems to be extremely aware of the limits of his self-control. It’s as being around Jaebeom makes the love in him bubble over until he’s afraid he’ll have to confront it.

For the second time tonight, Jinyoung stiffens at Bambam’s reaction. Bambam can’t help but feel a little bad. He remembers how overwhelming it had been to handle emotions other than his own at the beginning.

_Stop messing with my feelings,_ comes Jinyoung’s voice around him.

_I’m not messing with anything!_ Bambam insists. _I’m just sitting here. Observing you being a lovesick fool. Like always._

Jinyoung doesn’t respond, not even in his head. Bambam wonders if his excuses are running out, even the ones he tells himself.

* * *

The darkness of nighttime makes the barrier between present and memory fade. Jinyoung lies on his side, his entire body tense and painfully aware of the minimal distance between his body and Jaebeom’s on the mattress. Thoughts of younger days, of regular sleepovers and innocently bumping knees under the covers, chase each other around and around the inside of Jinyoung’s head.

Then again, Bambam probably isn’t helping matters any. He can’t help but think of the beds he shared with Yugyeom in his life, from the first slightly lumpy spring mattress in a studio apartment to their wedding bed. He remembers how hard it had been to sleep after, without a big, warm presence at his side.

Jaebeom doesn’t feel dissimilar, but he’s a little bigger, a little sharper than Yugyeom had ever been, even in his peak dancing days. Yugyeom’s shoulders were always rounded, his cheeks always full no matter how hard he worked or how fit he became. Even as they aged together, Yugyeom had stayed puppy-like. Maybe it had been in his eyes, Bambam reflects, or maybe that’s just what happens with good people—

_Can you stop?_ Jinyoung’s voice rings out.

The sound jars Bambam out of his reminiscence. _What?_

_It’s too much._ Jinyoung sounds strained. _All your memories are mixing with my actual feelings and it’s—it’s messing with my head._

_I can’t even tell where I start and where you end—_ Bambam starts.

_Yeah,_ Jinyoung snaps. _That’s my point._

_No,_ Bambam replies. I can’t tell because it’s the same. Because the way I felt about Yugyeom and the way you feel about Jaebeom? That whole ‘you’re my best friend and my favorite person and I don’t know how something so easy can feel so enormous’ feeling? It’s exactly the same.

_You can’t know that,_ Jinyoung argues. _It’s different, we’re younger and not—not married, for god’s sake, we haven’t had years and years of being together like that to know the way you did—_

Bambam doesn’t know if he means to do it. He’s been worn thin as it is, but the reminder of how it had felt to sleep beside Yugyeom, the deluge of Jinyoung’s emotions on top of it, and Jinyoung’s stubborn reaction are too much.

Something snaps—and he feels bittersweet warmth rush over him.

* * *

_Bambam has never woken up so rested. Then again, maybe he just feels more awake because of the sight he opens his eyes to—Yugyeom still passed out, mouth open and almost pouting in his sleep, hair a tangled mess._

_Usually, Bambam gets out of bed immediately to start his morning routine—it’s either that, or end up unfashionably late to work—but for now he lingers. It’s almost too warm with the shared body heat trapped under the blankets, but he can’t bring himself to mind, not when Yugyeom snuffles and his eyes slowly start to blink open and Bambam thinks, oh, what if I started every day like this—_

* * *

_“I’ll have a real wedding for us someday, okay?” Yugyeom’s lips brush against his ear as they sway in their living room._

_Bambam hums, clinging a little more tightly to Yugyeom’s shoulder. “The gathering today was enough for me.”_

_“But I want you to have a real wedding,” Yugyeom insists. “I want you to be able to design your own tux and order all the catering and boss people around because it’s your day—”_

_Bambam laughs and buries his face in Yugyeom’s neck. “It’d be your day too, idiot.”_

_“Yeah, but that just makes it your day,” Yugyeom singsongs, and Bambam wishes his stomach didn’t swoop at that. “Because what’s mine is yours.”_

_“Ew, don’t be gross—”_

_“You married me, you signed up for this—”_

* * *

_“Is this your first time at one of these functions?”_

_The voice sounds so sweet that when Bambam turns to see a man even taller than him, he does a double-take._

_The tall man laughs, almost like a cackle, and Bambam stands up a bit taller._

_“I’ve been working for the brand for a few years,” he says stiffly. “I’m only new to…this.”_

_The man leans in like they’re conspirators in something. “It freaked me out the first time I came to one of these things. Got way too nervous and tried to use liquid courage to make it through and spent the night hogging the single-stall bathroom.”_

_Despite himself, Bambam snorts. When it comes to his workplace, he’s usually the only one who wields self-deprecating humor as a social skill. “So, I take it you don’t want me to grab another glass of wine for you?”_

_The man’s eyes sparkle when he smiles and Bambam feels like he’s taken a shot, warm and tingling in his stomach._

_“Well, if you’re offering.”_

* * *

_“Okay.” Yugyeom takes a step back, hands on his hips. The paint—a muted medium green that Bambam had immediately known would compliment the wood of their bedframe—smears across the belt loops of his jeans. Bambam automatically starts planning how he can work it into a design that looks intentional. “I admit it. This color isn’t actually as ugly as sin.”_

_Bambam clicks his tongue. “When will you learn that making things look good is my actual job?”_

_“You make people look good,” Yugyeom corrects._

_“And rooms, apparently.”_

_Yugyeom laughs and then he’s reaching out for Bambam’s waist. Even though he’s wearing one of Yugyeom’s old shirts and doesn’t care about stains, Bambam has to fight down the urge to slap his hands away. “Are you just trying to get paint everywhere?”_

_Yugyeom taps the tip of Bambam’s nose. He can feel the coolness of the paint left behind. “Yep. It’s funny.”_

_Bambam grins and then slaps his hands down on Yugyeom’s back so hard he howls and jumps._

_“What was that for?” Yugyeom whines._

_Bambam just laughs and admires his handiwork—sloppy daubs of paint across the shoulders of Yugyeom’s shirt, matching Bambam’s._

* * *

_Jealousy is a stupid emotion. That’s a belief Bambam’s held for a long time. He’s too much like a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower, to get worked up about his friends having other friends. Sure, he likes to feel important to the people who are important to him, but he’s never been possessive. As long as he feels loved, then he doesn’t care where else the love goes._

_And Yugyeom is his best friend. He always makes Bambam feel loved._

_So, why does he feel like this?_

_The girl—woman, really, she’s older than both of them by a handful of years—is exactly the kind of partner Yugyeom deserves. She’s nurturing and funny and fiercely, unapologetically sexy in a way that weaker men than Yugyeom might not be able to handle._

_And it isn’t like Yugyeom doesn’t still spend time with Bambam. There’s no rhyme or reason to it._

_Yugyeom is his best friend. Bambam is starting to wonder if he himself is a piss-poor one._

* * *

_It’s just a piece of paper, Bambam thinks. It shouldn’t mean quite so much._

_And in the grand scheme of things, really, it doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything when compared to their decades of calling each other “husband,” to the road here to this city hall, to the family they’ve built for themselves._

_Still, Bambam can’t help but feel some of that same old warmth when Yugyeom kisses him like it’s their wedding all over again._

_It isn’t exactly the same. Neither of them is, together or apart. But the way Yugyeom fits him, the way they always come back together again no matter where they meander—that’s stayed the same all these years._

* * *

_Bambam clutches at the bouquet in his hands, hardly even noticing the thorns of the yellow roses digging into his palm. Nothing feels real—nothing except the sight of Yugyeom onstage._

_Joy is something Yugyeom naturally exudes. Not that he doesn’t have his darker days—and as his best friend, Bambam is probably the most aware of them—but it seems like his default is simply better than every other person Bambam knows._

_Even then, it doesn’t compare to the power he has when he dances._

_Bambam wonders dizzily how many years he’ll be Yugyeom’s best friend before he stops taking his breath away. His line of work doesn’t lend itself to long-lasting friendships, and the hours he puts in don’t give him much time to meet people outside of it._

_Yet Yugyeom has stayed. Somehow. Miraculously. And more than stayed, he’s made space for Bambam in his life and it’s made Bambam aware of the space in his own, not just for someone (for Yugyeom) but for himself, for the person he becomes with Yugyeom._

_Gratitude and fear and love crash over him at once, overwhelming despite how commonly he faces them._

_He holds the roses tightly to his chest._

* * *

Jinyoung is shaking.

It takes Bambam a moment to place that this body is too muscular to be his own, that the dark shape on the other side of the bed isn’t Yugyeom, that he’s still in Jinyoung’s mind and caught between life and death.

_I—_ Bambam doesn’t know where to start, doesn’t know what he’s done. _Did you see all that?_

Jinyoung gives a trembling nod. Between Bambam’s lingering memories and Jinyoung trying to process them, his head is ringing like a bomb’s gone off.

_Shit, Jinyoung, I’m sorry._ Bambam sighs. _I didn’t mean to make you feel all of that. It must’ve been…a lot._

When Jinyoung inhales, it’s jagged and wet, and Bambam realizes he’s crying.

_God, I really am so sorry, Jinyoung, I had no idea—_

_That’s exactly how you felt with him?_ Jinyoung interrupts. _That—that was all you? None of it was me?_

_Well, they were my memories._

_But then—_

Echoes of Bambam’s memories flash across Jinyoung’s mind—but they aren’t alone this time. The starburst of joy at Yugyeom’s laugh melts into sweet fondness at Jaebeom’s smile, the lingering longing paints more than one lifetime, and the love rings true and in unison and impossible to ignore.

_You were right,_ Jinyoung says. Even in his head, he sounds shaken to the core. _They’re—we—_

_He’s your Yugyeom,_ Bambam replies. _That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time._

Jinyoung draws in another sharp breath that edges too close to a sob.

Jaebeom stirs. Blinking awake, he asks groggily, “Jinyoung?”

“Go back to sleep,” Jinyoung says, but his voice sounds clogged with tears.

Jaebeom immediately snaps awake. “Hey, are you crying?”

“It’s nothing,” Jinyoung tries feebly. Jaebeom’s gentleness only feeds into the chaos raging in Jinyoung’s mind, fuel to send him into overdrive.

Jaebeom must be able to see it, because warm, soft hands cup Jinyoung’s cheeks and thumbs slide across his cheeks damp with tears. “Hey, c’mere. What happened?”

“It’s just—” Bambam watches as Jinyoung struggles for words, still trying to process the wave of emotion they’d just ridden together. “We—I—”

“Did you have a nightmare?” Jaebeom smooths Jinyoung’s bangs back from his forehead and cradles his jaw.

_Probably, in a way,_ Bambam wants to say, but Jinyoung just laughs thickly and a tiny bit hysterically and says, “No, not at all, it was—it was just—”

“Do you need anything from me?” Concern hangs heavy from Jaebeom’s every word.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung breathes. “I do.”

And then Jinyoung—measured, cautious, constantly restrained Jinyoung—leans in and presses his mouth to Jaebeom’s.

It’s too dark to see properly, their lips aren’t quite lined up, and it’s a little scruffy with weekend stubble, but it sends bliss soaring through Jinyoung’s brain. For the first time since Bambam showed up, Jinyoung’s mind falls silent.

Jaebeom pulls back just slightly, sighing against Jinyoung’s lips. “I—” He swallows hard. “Am I awake right now?”

“As awake as I am,” Jinyoung says breathlessly.

Jaebeom looks at him like he still doubts the reality of what he’s feeling. His hand trails back from Jinyoung’s jaw to cup the nape of his neck, holding him, firm and warm and tender. “Why? Why now?”

An awkward laugh stutters out of Jinyoung’s chest. Bambam doesn’t blame him—this isn’t really the moment to bring in half-dead spirits and missions from angels.

Jinyoung settles on kissing him again instead. For his part, Jaebeom all too happily melts into it, letting out a tiny moan as he winds his arm around Jinyoung’s waist and squeezes him tight.

Somehow alone, even in Jinyoung’s mind, Bambam feels a strange bittersweetness.


	4. Chapter 4

Even before he’d died, it had been decades since Bambam had experienced the blush of first love. He’s almost grateful that he feels so faded. He doesn’t know how he would handle that intensity of emotion while he’s still aching for Yugyeom, especially while Jinyoung and Jaebeom start to weave their lives together seamlessly, as if they had been pieces just waiting to fall into place.

And yet, Bambam is still here. Through more and more nights spent together, through endless kisses (though Jinyoung refuses to go further in their current situation and Jaebeom, thankfully, doesn’t press)—through it all, Bambam remains. There is no tug from the great beyond, no call, no grand ending. There is only watching and fading and wondering.

Even through the honeymoon phase, though, they both have to work. It’s one of the only times Bambam gets alone with Jinyoung—or, at least, away from Jaebeom—and it’s during a car ride home that Jinyoung brings it up.

“So. Your mission.”

_Yep._

Jinyoung sighs. “It really wasn’t enough to just get together with him? I really have to say ‘I love you’ specifically? That seems pedantic.”

_Oh, for sure,_ Bambam agrees. _Like I said—bureaucracy. You know how it is._

“I know, but this is ridiculous,” Jinyoung whines, flicking his directional with more force than necessary. “I know I love him. He knows I love him. We’re together. Wasn’t taking that risk the whole point?”

_Yeah, but I think they have to set hard-and-fast finish lines,_ Bambam replies. _Otherwise, you know how humans are._

Jinyoung groans. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

_Think of it as a gentle nudge in the direction you’re headed anyway,_ Bambam offers. _Like you said, he already knows you love him. So, what’s the issue?_

Jinyoung rubs his fingers against a spot on the steering wheel that’s been worn smooth. “It’s just…a difficult thing for me to say. To anyone, I mean, it’s not just this thing with Jaebeom.” He sighs. “And Jaebeom is very much aware of that. He knows what it means to me and how—how much I’d prefer to show it rather than say it.”

In this regard, Bambam can’t help but agree with Jinyoung. It seems not quite human, to define love in such a literal way—and maybe that makes sense, considering who had made the rule.

_I get that._ He doesn’t know what else to say.

Jinyoung rolls his lips between his teeth and then asks, “And then…what happens to you?”

_No idea,_ Bambam replies. _I guess I just go._

“Just like that?” Jinyoung does an admirable job of keeping his voice even, but Bambam can feel it—the beginning of that ache that he’s known far too well for years, but it isn’t his own anymore.

_I shouldn’t really have continued to be here, anyway,_ Bambam reminds him gently. _I’m not alive anymore._

“You say that, but you feel pretty alive to me.”

_Oh, yeah? I felt alive when I just tipped right into your body by accident?_

Jinyoung huffs in irritation, temper rising more easily to cover the swell of hurt. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I? We’re connecting on a human level. That feels pretty alive to me.”

_But it’s not,_ Bambam says. _I accepted that a long while ago._

Jinyoung squeezes the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “It’s not fair.”

Bambam sighs. _I know. But that’s how it is for everyone. And hey, just think—at the end of it all, there must be something pretty nice, right?_

“You really believe that?”

Bambam pauses to consider. _I think so. Living is…a lot. I’m grateful for everything I got to do, but—_ The thought of Yugyeom rises up. _I’m ready to rest. Whatever that entails._

There’s a beat of silence and then Jinyoung thinks, _I’ll miss you._

Bambam’s ache melts into Jinyoung’s. _I’ll miss you too. But at the end of the day, it’s not really the end, right?_

“Yeah.” Jinyoung takes a deep breath. “It isn’t.”

* * *

The wedding is of a mutual friend, so Jaebeom and Jinyoung hadn’t come as each other’s plus-ones. Still, the groom hadn’t seemed surprised to see them enter together—although he did raise an eyebrow at the possessive curl of Jaebeom’s hand around Jinyoung’s waist.

“I hope you two lovebirds aren’t trying to steal the spotlight on my day,” the bride says as they mingle during the reception, “or I might have to kill you.”

Jaebeom throws back his head and laughs. “Would never dream of it, Jamie.”

“You’re making a bigger deal of it now than we are,” Jinyoung points out.

“Like hell I am,” she retorts. “With the way Jaebeom’s been clinging to you all day, you may as well have a ‘Beware of Dog’ sign for him.”

“Don’t you have someone to be paying attention to?” Jaebeom suggests, nodding over at the groom. He’s cackling with laughter as his shoulder brushes against another mutual friend Bambam recognizes—that Jackson guy.

Jamie waves her hand. “We’re about to spend the rest of our lives together.” A wicked smile spreads across her face. “And I’m planning on paying _plenty_ of attention to Mark later, anyway.”

Jinyoung pulls an over-exaggerated face and earns a smack on the shoulder for his trouble.

She points at them. “I’m watching you two. If I see you sneaking off together anywhere other than your car, I’m calling the police.”

Jinyoung channels the spirit of one of his students and sticks his tongue out at her. Grabbing Jaebeom by the elbow, he sweeps him away and toward the dance floor. “We’re going to go show you up, just so you know,” he calls over his shoulder. “You brought this on yourself.”

“You’re disgusting!” she yells back cheerfully. “I’ll make sure the photographer gets some pictures.”

Comfortable warmth pillows Jinyoung’s thoughts as he places his hands expectantly around Jaebeom’s neck.

Jaebeom raises his eyebrows, but that doesn’t prevent him from starting to sway them to the rhythm. “Oh, we’re going full middle school dance?”

“Like you would know,” Jinyoung retorts.

Jaebeom snorts. “You’re right. I wouldn’t know, because we spent all the socials and dances watching movies at your house.”

Memories flash across Jinyoung’s mind—the closeness, the giddy joy at being chosen over the parties and the girls (and eventually, once they realized, the other boys). His arms squeeze Jaebeom just slightly closer. “Call it making up for lost time, then.”

Jaebeom’s hands are warm against Jinyoung’s back. “I don’t know. I don’t think we lost anything.”

The gratitude that rushes through Jinyoung feels so buoyant it’s as if Bambam is floating atop it. “You think so?”

Jaebeom hums an affirmative noise. “You’re my best friend, and now you’re also my boyfriend. I don’t see any losing here.”

There’s a small, fond smile on Jaebeom’s face that Jinyoung’s known for years and years, but the sight of him just like this—in Jinyoung’s arms, cleaned up nicely, and dressed to the nines—collides with the love that’s built up in Jinyoung for almost two decades. They meet somewhere in a fleeting thought that gets snagged on a corner in Jinyoung’s mind and lingers there.

Jinyoung isn’t the type to rush ahead, as Bambam knows all too well. So it catches him off-guard when he feels the general shape of Jinyoung’s thoughts—a distant future that feels more immediate than it ever has before, a wedding that isn’t someone else’s—

It dredges up Bambam’s memories of Yugyeom, of dancing together in their little apartment after the small party they’d called a wedding. He’s nearly certain Jinyoung can see it too.

Jinyoung presses even closer and buries his face in Jaebeom’s neck.

Bambam can’t blame him. He’d felt that way when he realized, too.

* * *

It’s a regular event, now, for Jaebeom to sleep in Jinyoung’s bed now. It turns out that he hadn’t been lying about the loud neighbors, and Jinyoung is incredibly picky about sleeping arrangements, so most of their nights are spent in Jinyoung’s apartment now.

Bambam finds that he doesn’t mind. Every morning when Jinyoung wakes up, Bambam looks at his surroundings and wonders if this might be the last time he sees them. It’s strange—he’d never thought when he first came back that he would become this attached to a living human again.

He can almost feel Yugyeom laughing at him from a past life (or possibly the next one).

Jinyoung doesn’t fall asleep as easily as Jaebeom, whose body is willing to doze off at any given moment. So, there are plenty of nights like this one, spent lying on his side and appreciating the way Jaebeom looks otherworldly, washed out by moonlight.

_Do you think he has to hear it?_ Jinyoung asks suddenly.

Bambam is used to Jinyoung having these little conversations with him at night by now. _Hear what?_

_The words,_ Jinyoung clarifies. _When I say them._

_Well._ Bambam thinks back on the specificity of the mission. _I guess they didn’t technically say anything about it. And besides, I think the mission was less about the confession and more about your own acceptance. It was about really letting yourself be happy, I think._

_Right. So…do you think if I said it now? It would work?_

_Oh._ Bambam should be elated. He is, on some level. The exhaustion runs so deep that he’d cry, if he could have a body, just at the idea of rest.

_Bambam?_

_I’m here,_ Bambam reassures him. _But…yeah, you could give it a shot._

_Okay._ Jinyoung takes a deep breath—but the words don’t come. Instead, he says, _God, I feel stupid._

_It’s not stupid,_ Bambam replies. _Not unless we’re both stupid._

_Well…._ There isn’t any bite to Jinyoung’s teasing, though. Every thought directed toward Bambam feels more immediately tender than they’ve ever felt before. Suddenly, Jinyoung says, _I wish I’d met you. Before._

Bambam wants to dwell on the possibilities—but that won’t do, not when he’s leaving so soon. Still, he says, _I do too._ When Jinyoung stays silent and unmoving, Bambam sighs. _Hey, don’t think of it as goodbye. I’ll see you again eventually._

_Didn’t it feel like goodbye with Yugyeom, though?_

A sympathetic pang strikes Bambam. _Well…yes. But I didn’t know what came after._

_You don’t know now, either,_ Jinyoung points out.

_I know there’s something,_ Bambam says firmly. _And that’s worth it, to me._

Jinyoung bites his lips. _I’m sorry, it’s just—I don’t know how I’m even going to convince myself this was real once you’re…gone._

_You think you could imagine me?_ Bambam teases gently. _I didn’t think you were that fun._

Jinyoung huffs out a tiny chuckle. _Maybe you have a point._

_I’ll prove to you how real I am someday when you’re in my shoes, okay?_ Bambam considers and then hastily adds, _In many decades, if you don’t mind. Not that I don’t want to see you, but—_

_Thanks for not wishing an early death on me,_ Jinyoung replies, amusement fluttering warmly in his chest. Still, it soon settles along with the cold eventuality of what’s going to happen. _Are you…ready, then?_

_I’ve been ready,_ Bambam says honestly. _I need rest. More than I ever needed it when I was alive, Jinyoung, like you can’t even imagine._

Jinyoung nods. _I already said it, but I’ll miss you._

_I’ll miss you too,_ Bambam promises. _I’ll be waiting for you._

_Well, then. I guess this is goodbye._

_See you later,_ Bambam corrects. _Much later, ideally._

Jinyoung chokes out a tiny laugh. _Okay. See you later, Bambam. And thank you._

And then Jinyoung opens his mouth, takes a shaky breath, and speaks.


	5. Chapter 5

Immediately, a weight lifts from Jinyoung’s mind. It feels like completing a major project or meeting a deadline, but he can’t shake the bittersweet knowledge of what’s truly happening. He’d always felt his mind was too full before, stuffed with thoughts that were difficult to precisely articulate.

Now, though, it feels too quiet.

_Thank you,_ he thinks, putting as much emotion and power behind it as he can. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

There’s silence for a moment. And then Jinyoung hears, more distant than ever, as if carried on a breeze:

_Yugyeom?_

**Author's Note:**

> believe it or not, this fic was originally inspired many moons ago by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/ohwormzo/status/1062680895440732160).
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/mianderings) or [curious cat](http://curiouscat.me/mianderings)!


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